


Anantya

by Lakritzwolf



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reincarnation, Sad with a Happy Ending, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 22:51:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16293359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakritzwolf/pseuds/Lakritzwolf
Summary: Magnus and Alec have been together for ten years when the fate of the soldier catches up with Alec while he is out on patrol.Magnus has always known he would lose Alec one day, but now has to cope with the loss far earlier than he had expected. Now his immortality seems to become a burden almost too heavy to bear as he has to face it without the love of his long life.Alexander "Sandy" Hatfield, a young warlock born in Johannesburg, has been struggling with his magic, his warlock mark and frighteningly confusing dreams for as long as he can remember. But there is one constant in those dreams: the face of a man with golden eyes. As he grows up Sandy realises that this man could well hold the answer to all his questions, and sets off on the near-impossible search for a man whose face is the only clue he has.But the fates have woven their knots around two souls as an ancient Sanskrit ritual turns out to be much more than just a symbolic act.





	1. Pulvis et umbra sumus – For we are dust and shadows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apathyinreverie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apathyinreverie/gifts), [ByTheAngell (SomeLittleInfamy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeLittleInfamy/gifts), [lynne_monstr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynne_monstr/gifts).



> [Anantya](http://spokensanskrit.org/index.php?tran_input=anantya&direct=se&script=hk&link=yes&mode=3) is the Sanskrit word for eternity.  
> Beautiful cover art by @beyondthehunt on [twitter](https://twitter.com/beyondthehunt) and [tumblr](http://beyondthehunt.tumblr.com/)

Magnus had always known this day would come. Had always known that one day, Alec would be gone.

There wasn’t anything he could have done to prepare himself for it, although he had been through the same before. Not the same, not quite, because this time, it was different. Alec wasn’t, hadn’t been, like any other lover he’d had before. Magnus had never felt like that.

And Magnus had never felt the pain like that. The loss like a gaping, open wound, raw and bleeding. It left him breathless, like a vice around his chest trying to crush him.

He had known it would come to this, but not so soon... God, not so soon. Magnus had hoped for a lifetime, though a single lifetime was not enough for a love like this. Would never be enough.

As it was, he and Alec had only been given ten years. Ten glorious, wonderful years. He should be grateful for the time he had been granted such happiness, and he was. But he still cursed the fates for taking Alec from him so soon.

Alec had gone out on patrol this morning. Just like almost every day during the last years. A kiss goodbye, and Magnus had turned to his own duties. Until a single text had shattered his world completely.

_You need to come to the institute._

A cold feeling of dread had already spread in Magnus’ chest as he opened the portal, his worst fear gnawing at him, then digging its teeth deep into his soul. He had reached the infirmary out of breath. Had seen Izzy who had looked at him with tears on her cheeks.

Had seen Jace on the ground, his back against a wall, white-faced, and in tears. Clary next to him, her arms around him, and her cheeks wet with tears as well.

_Where is Alec_ , he had asked.

Refusing to acknowledge the presence of someone covered with a sheet on the bed behind her.

Izzy’s words, cutting right through his soul like a searing hot knife. _Magnus, I’m so sorry..._

And that was when his world had collapsed. Shaking his head in cold, numb denial Magnus had refused to look at the body at first, but in the end, had braced himself for the inevitable.

Alec had looked strangely peaceful. His face pale, so pale, and so lifeless, so utterly unlike sleep. It was ridiculous how anyone could compare death to a peaceful sleep. Peaceful yes, maybe, but it hadn’t taken Magnus more than a single glance to know that Alec, his Alec, his love, was gone from this world.

And still, he had been numb.

Cold.

It couldn’t be.

Not like this.

Not now.

Not so soon.

_Please..._

Magnus had no idea how long he had stood there in the Institute’s infirmary, listening to Jace’s sobs, Isabelle’s hand resting against his arm. His mind had refused to proceed what was happening.

When Maryse had appeared, in a run, and with panicked eyes, he had portalled back to his loft. Had meant to have a drink.

But as soon as he had stepped out of the portal his eyes had fallen onto a picture, him and Alec, making faces at the camera in a photo booth in Hong Kong.

And the numb denial had given way to a frustrated, helpless fury.

Now Magnus sat on his couch, where he and Alec had shared warm embraces and kisses only hours ago, before bedtime last night, and stared at the carnage his fury had left. Upended furniture, shards of glasses and bottles, books lying face down, some torn apart with their pages all over the carpet, the beautiful chandelier fallen and shattered into a million pieces.

Just like his heart. Broken, shattered, destroyed. The last of his magic now seeped purposelessly out of his trembling fingers.

And yet, his eyes were dry. A part of him was still strangely numb inside, despite the fury.

It felt surreal.

It couldn’t be true.

Alec had only meant to do half a day at work, and they had planned to have their lunch in Berlin because Alec had never been to Germany. Magnus knew a place – of course he did, he was Magnus Bane after all – and had made a reservation.

He should probably cancel it.

He didn’t move.

Couldn’t pick up his phone where Izzy’s message was still displayed on the screen. Seven words that had destroyed his world.

After what felt like an eternity Magnus picked up the phone after all. Looked at those seven words.

And his magic crushed the phone into a crumpled mess of plastic and metal that he dropped without looking at it again.

The sun had long since set but Magnus didn’t switch on the light. He sat on the couch, his hands dangling between his knees, his eyes empty and staring at nothing.

A portal opened in his loft, only a few steps away from him. He couldn’t bring himself to care, not even as Catarina sat down beside him. She didn’t speak, didn’t do anything but look at him, but Magnus refused to look at her. Couldn’t. Couldn’t face another fact that proved it was real. That Alec was gone.

As if a part of him was somehow hoping it was all a huge, grotesque misunderstanding, and Alec would come home soon after all.

Catarina spent the next hours at his side, in silence, knowing better than trying to offer meaningless words of comfort that would provide no comfort at all.  
With sunrise she left her vigil at his side and made some tea. She pressed the cup between Magnus’ hands and first let go when Magnus closed his fingers around it.

She still hadn’t said a word, and neither had Magnus. The tea went cold without touching his lips.

Catarina finally broke the silence, turning towards Magnus with a slip of paper in her hand.

“Magnus, Isabelle sent a fire message.” Her voice was soft, cautious. “She asks if you want to attend the rite of mourning.”

Finally, for the first time, Magnus looked at her.

“You should go,” she said gently.

Magnus didn’t know what difference it would make. Alec was gone.

He still got up, stiff from the night spent hunched over on a couch. Catarina got up too and ran a gentle hand down his back to loosen his muscles.

And Magnus took a deep breath and with a flick of his hand, his clothes changed their colour. A white shirt, a white suit. White, the colour of mourning.

Catarina followed his lead and opened a portal. Clad in a white dress without any finesse, she took Magnus’ hand and they stepped through the portal into the Institute.

Magnus ignored the sorrowful looks. He didn’t look at anyone. Not at Izzy when she offered an embrace, and he still didn’t look at her when she whispered: “Magnus, I’m so sorry...” Her voice was thick with tears.

Jace was leaning on Clary as if he was an invalid. Which, in a way, he was. A part of him was gone now. A feeling Magnus could understand all too well.

Maryse, white-faced and in tears, offered an embrace as well. Izzy had her arms around Max, and Maryse went back to the side of her ex-husband who closed his arms around her, momentarily reunited by their grief.

Alec, as Head of the Institute, should have said those words. Instead, it was Underhill, acting as proxy until someone else would take Alec’s place.

“Those remaining will take their place with the fallen.”

The Lightwoods stepped forward as one, to take their place next to fallen brother and son. Jace however stepped to Magnus’ side and took his hand. Their eyes met, united in grief too, each having lost a piece of their soul. Jace led Magnus towards the others, so he stood next to Izzy, and Jace stood on Magnus’ other side.

“Those remaining will say the name of the fallen.”

There was a moment of painful silence until Jace raised his voice. It was hoarse and cracked with pain, trembling with tears he was desperate not to shed.

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood.”

The voices answering him were subdued and low.

_“Pulvis et umbra sumus.”_

“Brother,” Izzy said, her voice as rough as Jace’s when he spoke. “Parabatai.”

_“For we are dust and shadows.”_

“Beloved son,” Maryse said, all her strength in those words so she could say them without sobbing.

_“Ave atque vale.”_

Jace looked at Magnus, who felt a cold shudder creep down his spine. Maryse now looked at him too, with a hardly perceptible nod.

There was no way he truly could explain what Alexander had been to him. An anchor in all the turbulences of his life, a rock in the ocean of his loneliness, the missing half of his soul, the love of his long, long life, and so much more. No amount of words could convey all that, so Magnus took a deep breath, and with his voice low and trembling he just settled for a word that came utterly short but that others would understand.

“Lover.”

_“Hail and farewell.”_

What kept him upright as he watched the white wisps of essence vanish into the sky, Magnus couldn’t say. His vision blurred, his throat constricted and burned, and he felt the tears hot on his cheeks as he watched the dome above him close again.

Alec was gone.

Magnus remained at his side, however, looking at the faint outlines of Alec’s face under the white, translucent sheet.

He was gone.

The room around him emptied and fell silent, the last ones remaining the Lightwoods, Jace and Clary. And Magnus, who stared at the lifeless body.

“Magnus.” Catarina’s voice, still soft, as she touched his arm.

With the arrival of the two men who meant to pick up Alec’s body to be prepared for the funeral, Magnus finally tore his eyes away from Alec’s still and silent form on the pedestal and let Catarina lead him to the portal. The portal that would lead him home, into a place empty and devoid of life, now that Alec was gone.

“Magnus.”

Jace touched his shoulder, and Magnus looked up into his grief-stricken face.

“I couldn’t...” Jace swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t have to...” He closed his eyes and two tears ran down his cheeks as he opened them again. “You have clearance to come to Idris with us. For the funeral.”

Magnus couldn’t do more than incline his head in gratitude. He had foregone funerals of loved ones before in an attempt to escape the pain. He had come to regret it every single time. This time there would be no such thing.

Catarina led him home through the portal, then settled him on his couch after changing his wardrobe into something more comfortable. She sat down beside him, still silent, and took one of his hands.

Magnus watched her fingers close around his own, and finally, looked up to meet her eyes. They were red, brimming with tears caused by his loss.

His own vision blurred again, and at that moment, something inside him broke. He fell against her, his head buried into her shoulder, and as she closed her arms around him, Magnus went thoroughly and completely to pieces.

* * *

Magnus had no recollection of the remainder of the day, only that he must have passed out at one point because he opened his eyes to darkness outside. The loft was filled with the warm light of the two lamps that had survived his outburst from the day before, and several candles.

He sat up with a groan, every bone in his body aching and burning. And the tears were back the very moment his brain had woken up properly.

Alec was gone.

Catarina, bless her soul, was still there and was immediately at his side again. She had made tea and this time managed to coax Magnus into drinking some of it.

In a desperate attempt to think of anything else than the absence of Alec he finally looked at Catarina again.

“What about sweet pea?” His voice was hoarse from crying.  
“She’s here,” Catarina said. “I picked her up when you were sleeping. She’s in bed in the spare room.”

Magnus nodded and looked into his empty cup. Catarina sighed and gently pried it out of his fingers, and went to refill it. She came back and put the cup down onto the coffee table, then picked up Magnus’ phone.

“I fixed it,” she said and put it down again. “I figured there might be pictures on it you’d like to keep.”

Pictures.

Pictures of Alec. Pictures of Magnus and Alec. Happy pictures. Selfies from all over the world. The silly little videos Magnus had loved, filming Alec in such mundane situations like reading a book, or making coffee. And every time, when Alec had noticed what Magnus was doing, the clip ended with Alec grinning, shaking his head with an exasperated smile, or complaining while trying to get his hands on Magnus’ phone.

Ten years’ worth of pictures was safe on Alec’s laptop, but these little slices of life were only for Magnus. Had always been. And were now the only thing that remained of him. Memories.

Magnus took the phone with trembling fingers and opened one of his videos, the last one, only a couple of days old. Alec had been in the kitchen chopping onions, dancing to the music coming from his headphones. Magnus had stood in the doorframe with his phone, and it had taken Alec almost two minutes to realise he was standing there.

_“What the hell are you doing?”_  
_“You’re cute when you’re sniffling like that,”_ Magnus heard his own voice.  
_“You’re invading my privacy!”_  
_“I am sorry for interrupting your tête-à-tête with your onions.”_  
_“Stop filming,”_ Alec said, trying to sound threatening while having to laugh at the same time.  
_“Make me.”_ Magnus chuckled.

Alec picked up his knife, and with a horrible fake grimace of fury went at Magnus with the knife thrust out. The picture jerked sideways, a blurry flash, and the video stopped.

The phone slid out of Magnus’ fingers and landed face down on the carpet. It was futile to fight his tears so Magnus didn’t even try, and he fell against Catarina again who pulled him close.

“He can’t be gone,” Magnus whispered, hardly recognising his own voice. “Cat, he can’t just be gone like that...”

Catarina didn’t reply, only held on tighter and ran one of her hands through Magnus’ hair.

* * *

Somehow, against all expectations, the warm presence of Catarina provided some sort of comfort after all, or maybe it had to do with the tea she had made, or both. Magnus opened his eyes again and found that daylight was streaming through the windows. They had both fallen asleep despite Magnus clinging to her like a child.

Magnus carefully peeled himself away from her and equally carefully, pulled the blanket over her body. She sighed and shifted in her sleep, but didn’t wake up.

Magnus tip-toed into the bathroom, and for the first time since the worst news of his life, got a look at himself in the mirror. His face was grey, his eyes sunken and red-rimmed and glassy with half-shed tears. His hair was a mess, and his make-up was in a state beyond any description, the eyeliner having washed grey streaks down his cheeks from all those tears.

He should probably take a shower. Maybe it would make him feel marginally better, physically at least.

And then he would smell of sandalwood shampoo, and Alec would never again bury his nose in Magnus’ freshly washed hair and tell him how much he loved the scent.

His vision blurred and when Magnus could see his reflection again there were tears running down his cheeks. His reflection gritted his teeth and with a snap of his fingers Magnus restored his appearance to its usual state. For a given value of. He couldn’t do anything about those puffy, red-rimmed eyes or the unhealthy pallor of his skin.

He wondered why he even cared.

Catarina was awake when he emerged from the bathroom, but they exchanged no words as Magnus changed his wardrobe again. He was beginning to seriously hate the colour white.

Since Catarina didn’t have clearance for Idris she stayed behind, and Magnus portalled alone to the Institute where Jace and Clary were waiting for him. Jace looked as if he had aged at least ten years during the last two days. Magnus could more than sympathise.

“Magnus...” He licked his lips. “Magnus, I...” Closing his eyes Jace shook his head, and when he looked at Magnus again he blinked away his tears. Then he dug into a pocket. “I was... I was looking for Alec’s witchlight last night,” he began. “He didn’t have it on him when he...” Jace broke off again with a shake of his head, but when Clary took his other hand, he inhaled deeply and swallowed a few times before he continued. “I found this in his desk,” Jace went on, his voice even lower. “I... I don’t know how long... I know he talked to me about it. I don’t know when he bought it, or if he was waiting for the right...” He broke off again and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. “I just know it’s for you and... you should have it.”

The item in Jace’s hand was a small, golden satin box. The moment Magnus saw it he knew what it was, and if he had thought before his heart was broken already he now was proven wrong. It must have showed in his face because Jace stepped forward and pulled him into an embrace, and Magnus was grateful for it because he wasn’t sure he would have been able to stand upright without it.

“We need to go,” Clary whispered as they parted, both in tears again.

Jace squared his shoulders, or tried to, and Magnus tried as well to somehow get into control of himself again.

And despite knowing better he still begged the fates to let him wake up from this nightmare.


	2. Ave atque vale – Hail and farewell

They were the last ones to enter the chapel. It was packed, but there were still three empty seats at the very front. A few heads turned as they entered, and a few more, and even more as people realised what they were looking at. It was obvious that no one had expected a downworlder at this funeral.

Magnus didn’t even register the stares and the angry whispers. But even if he had, he wouldn’t have cared.

Because there, at the other end of the chapel in front of the altar, between two large candelabras, stood a white casket. It was still open and there he was, his Alec, dressed in a white suit, his witchlight and stele on his chest.

Clutching the little satin box Magnus was hardly able to move. He didn’t register that Maryse had joined them until she embraced him again, and he let her lead him towards the front row where he sat down between her and Jace. His eyes fell again on Alec’s lifeless face, his beautiful face, the face of a man in his prime who had just begun to show a few crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes. Magnus loved those. He had loved them. They had showed when Alec had been smiling or laughing.

Magnus would never see him smile again. Never hear him laugh again. Never again see those warm, hazel eyes on him.

He shook his head and looked down, and at the small spot of moisture that appeared on his thigh. It was joined by another, and another. He closed his eyes, but it didn’t stop the tears.

He paid the service no mind; he had no knowledge about the rites and the chants. He just sat there in silent, lonely grief, his hand closed around the small satin box so hard his knuckles were white.

Magnus didn’t realise that the service was over until the people around him got up, and one by one they walked past the casket for a last look and maybe a word of farewell. The Lightwoods were the last to step forward, and they didn’t leave the chapel with the others but stayed with Alec for a moment longer, telling him how much they were hurting, how much they would miss him.

Jace leaned over him for the last time, brushing his lips onto Alec’s forehead. “Parabatai,” he whispered before he turned away, slumping into Clary’s embrace with a sob.

Magnus watched Alec’s face, still, silent, lifeless, pale, waxen. And then he looked at the little box. He opened it, and looked at the ring.

It was a simple silver band, no engravings or stones or other decorations. Straightforward and strong and beautiful – just like Alec had been. Magnus took the ring and snapped the box shut before shoving it into his pocket.

“You know I would have said yes,” he said softly. “You know that, right? I would have said yes.” His voice broke on the last word and he silently shook his head.

Magnus pulled the ring off his left ring finger and dropped it into his pocket too, then slipped Alec’s ring on, not the slightest bit surprised that it fit him perfectly. He could hear Maryse’s suffocated sob as he ran his thumb over the ring.

Then he looked at Alec, and wondered how many times a heart could break before there was nothing left of it. For a moment he had no idea how he was still able to breathe. As if all his insides had been turned to stone.

And then, with a flick of his wrist, he conjured the matching ring to the one he wore around Alec’s left ring finger.

“Until death do us part, and forever beyond,” he whispered tonelessly. “Goodbye, Alexander.”

Magnus stepped closer, and leaned over Alec’s face, but there was no breath to answer his, the lips cold and lifeless and unyielding against his own. Magnus straightened up again and stepped back, his eyes suddenly strangely dry, and his soul cold and numb, as if the kiss had drawn the last bit of warmth out of him as well.

He stared at Alec’s face as the casket was closed now, stared without blinking, because it was the last time he would ever look at this beloved face. And then it was over, Alec was gone from his sight, gone from his world, forever out of reach.

He followed the pallbearers outside, feeling not only cold and numb but strangely displaced, as if he was not really inside his own body anymore. But as they lowered the casket down into the cold and dark earth Magnus felt his strength leave him; he could stop himself from sobbing but he sank to his knees right next to the open grave. He held out his hand in a last, desperate gesture of farewell, and as a wisp of blue appeared around his fingertips petals started falling into the grave. Rose petals, white and red and all shades of pink in between, rained softly and silently onto the casket like snowflakes until it was covered, together with Magnus’ own heart and soul.

In the end he couldn’t watch as they threw cold and merciless earth onto his beloved Alexander and opened a portal, something that had come to him as easy as breathing but now seemed to take more effort than trying to bear the world.

Catarina and Madzie left the kitchen when they heard him enter, and both of them watched Magnus with sad eyes as he fell into the couch.

“He will come back,” Madzie said suddenly into the heavy silence.  
Magnus tried to smile, but failed utterly. “I wish with all my heart that were true, sweet pea.”  
“But he will.” Madzie seemed dead sure, as if she was stating a matter of fact.

Magnus shook his head and dropped it with a sigh. He stared at the ring.

This wasn’t how he had imagined his wedding night.

The memory came unbidden and merciless, and Magnus had no strength left to banish it.

 

_“Tell me you haven’t been thinking about it.”_

_Magnus looked up from his breakfast and at Alec who was browsing the pictures on his phone. They had been to Paris again to enjoy a beautiful spring weekend._

_“Thinking about what?” He asked._  
_“You know...” Alec made a vague, slightly helpless gesture with one hand, the phone in the other. “Us.”_  
_“My darling Alexander...” Magnus put down his fork. “I think about us all the time.”_

_Alec took a deep breath and Magnus leaned forward to look at the screen. They were standing in front of the Notre Dame._

_“Ah, like that.” Magnus looked up at Alec. “You’re referring to the big M-word.”_  
_Alec shrugged and put the phone down. “I just...”_  
_“Alexander.” Magnus reached out and took both of Alec’s hands between his own. “I appreciate the notion. I really do. But listen...” He increased the pressure of his hands. “I don’t need any slip of paper, no rings, or any other piece of jewellery, to know that you are mine, and that I am yours.”_

_Alec smiled, that adorable, lopsided smile of his, and looked up at Magnus again. “Is a wedding to mundane for you?”_  
_“Alexander,” Magnus sighed. “If a wedding with your family means so much to you then-”_  
_“No, Magnus...” Alec pulled one of his hands free and rested it on Magnus’ shoulder. “This isn’t about... validating us. I don’t need to... to scream it from the rooftops. This isn’t about proving ourselves to the world. I don’t care what anyone thinks we should or shouldn’t do.”_

_He paused for a moment and Magnus waited for him to sort his thoughts._

_“This is... it’s about us,” Alec began again. “You and me. I don’t have to prove anything to anyone, I just...” He broke off with a helpless, frustrated sigh._  
_“Let me hazard a guess,” Magnus said and leaned closer. “What you are thinking about is some sort of ritual to emphasise and celebrate our bond.”_  
_Alec smiled again, a little embarrassed maybe, but his eyes were warm. “Yeah... pretty much that.”_

_Magnus smiled again and let go of Alec’s hands, then he reached out and rested his hand against Alec’s cheek._

_“I tell you what,” he said. “You go to work, and I see what I can come up with. I have an idea that I feel might just be what we need. And when you come home tonight, we can look at it together.”_  
_Alec closed his hand around Magnus’ wrist and nuzzled into Magnus palm, then dropped a kiss onto Magnus’ knuckles before he let go and got up. “Sounds perfect.”_

 

His left hand resting in his right one, Magnus brushed his thumb over the ring, over and over again. He could hear Catarina and Madzie putter around in the kitchen, but couldn’t care less about what they were doing.

He had found the ritual in question in one of his books, noted down in every detail, and had spent some time pondering about it, analysing the details and looking for the components he might need. In the end he had been forced to admit that the whole notion had made him far too excited, so he had dropped by the Institute for a quick lunch with Alec in his office.

 

_“An-what?”_  
_“Anantya,” Magnus said again. “It’s the Sanskrit word for eternity, or forever, depending on the context. Not,” he lifted one hand with a twitch of his head, “that I’m fluid in Sanskrit, but I was able to figure that one out.”_  
_“And what exactly is it?” Alec asked, a slight frown on his face._  
_“It’s based on the belief in reincarnation,” Magnus explained. “The ritual is believed to bind two souls.”_  
_“Kind of like the parabatai bond?”_  
_“Not really.” Magnus shook his head. “The parabatai bond is for life. This is forever, hence the name. It’s supposed to bind two souls forever, so they may find each other again in every incarnation that follows.”_

_Alec nodded, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”_  
_“Do we have to believe in it?”_  
_“No, I just thought...” Then Alec looked up, a soft smile forming on his face. “I said it once, didn’t I? We always find our way back to each other.”_  
_Magnus’ smile softened as well. “We do.”_  
_“But in another life...” Alec pressed his lips together for a moment. “Do Shadowhunters get reborn?”_  
_“Common belief says that Shadowhunters are welcomed into the Silver City where they take their place among the angelic choirs.”_  
_“No reincarnation then.”_  
_“Well, no one has come back yet to tell the tale,” Magnus said cautiously. “But we don’t have to do this.”_  
_His smile as warm as his eyes, Alec took one of Magnus’ hands. “It’s... it’s a great idea. It’s like...”_  
_“A promise?” Magnus suggested._  
_“It’s hard to make a promise if we don’t know we can keep it,” Alec replied slowly._  
_“A wish then,” Magnus said, closing his fingers around Alec’s._  
_Alec returned the gesture with a smile. “A wish.”_

 

Magnus wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, the ghost of a smile on his face.

 

_“Magnus?” The door fell shut again. “I’m home!”_  
_“Welcome back, Alexander,” came Magnus’ voice from the bedroom._

_Alec was standing next to the door looking stumped when Magnus emerged from the bedroom, wearing a long, belted satin robe. Alec looked up with a slightly nervous smile._

_“Ah... I was trying to set a mood,” Magnus said._  
_“Quite the mood,” Alec said in a low voice and looked around again._

_The centre of the living room was covered in a large assembly of pillows in various sizes, the colours ranging from gold to red. Dark red, translucent fabric was falling from the ceiling, creating something like a tent around the pillows, and a few incense sticks sweetened the air with scents of sandalwood and cinnamon. The room was only lit by several carefully arranged clusters of candles._

_“Doing my best,” Magnus said, visibly pleased about the effect all this had on Alec. “Why don’t you take a shower while I get everything ready?”_

_Alec opened his mouth to reply, but only closed it again, sighed, shook his head, and vanished into the bathroom. Magnus turned around with a twitch of his eyebrows and knelt down next to a small table in the tent to arrange a few items there._

_He got up again when Alec emerged from the bathroom, a towel around his hips and his hair slightly moist. He looked around again, and gave Magnus a slightly nervous smile._

_“Are you ready?”_  
_“Yes.” Alec’s voice was soft, but his reply came without hesitation._

_Magnus smiled again and beckoned him closer._

_“Now,” he began and frowned when he saw Alec’s incredulous expression. “Something wrong?”_  
_“No...” Alec stepped closer. “I just didn’t notice it at first... with this light...”_  
_“Notice what?”_  
_“Your...” Alec gestured at his face._  
_“Oh, that.” Magnus’ smile widened. “Part of the ritual. The aspect of purity. Hence the shower.”_  
_“I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you so...” Alec faltered._  
_“Bland?”_  
_“No,” Alec replied firmly. “You’re beautiful, Magnus. You’re just... different.”_

_The fact that Magnus was wearing not a single piece of jewellery nor any makeup, and that he hadn’t put anything into his hair, neither styling product nor colour, would give anyone pause. It was not a side he showed to anyone, and Alec was the only person to have ever seen him like that. The only person Magnus didn’t mind seeing him like that._

_“As I said.” Magnus smiled again. “Purity. Although I have to admit I have worked a bit on that one.”_  
_“On not putting on make-up?”_

_Magnus looked at him with a slight, amused frown. “On the aspect of purity. You see, the original ritual is a very... complicated affair, and takes a very long time. However, I studied it extensively and came to the conclusion that we can forego a lot of the initial preparation.”_  
_“How so?”_

_Magnus beckoned Alec inside the tent. “Well, for one, the purity preparations include a week of ritual fasting, and a ritual bath, a full body shave, and another bath.” He made a significant pause._  
_Alec subconsciously ran a hand through his hair with a forced smile._  
_“Exactly. I felt we can cover the purity with a reasonable amount of hot water and soap and shampoo.”_

_Alec crossed his arms and nodded._

_“You see, I feel sometimes that a lot of those ancient rituals are so long and exhausting because the ones overseeing it needed some additional drama, because otherwise, anyone would be able to do it.” Magnus winked. “Be that as it may, there are a few things that were necessary, but which I have a shortcut for.”_  
_Alec raised a questioning eyebrow._  
_“You see, the fasting, that was to...” he gestured into the air, “...to open and free the mind. It’s called inner purification, but ultimately it results in some sort of trance, or hypnotic state, achieved by constant hunger. I don’t see why an empty digestive system would be helpful, and I can get us into that state with a simple potion.”_  
_“Right.”_

_Magnus stepped closer and rested a hand on Alec’s shoulder. “If you have second thoughts then all you have to do is say so,” he said gravely._  
_“No.” Alec smiled and closed his fingers around those on his shoulder. “I’m fine. Not shaving or fasting is fine by me, too.”_  
_“I thought so,” Magnus replied with another wink. “The other thing we can drop is a very long and complicated process of... I guess you could call it an extraction ritual. Meant to infuse one person with a part of the other’s soul. It involves potions brewed of various bodily fluids, mainly blood, and a lot of ritual sex. And believe me, those positions are ridiculous, with or without flexibility rune.”_

_“And that...” Alec began hesitantly._  
_“That, I can solve with a spell,” Magnus said. “And the potion doesn’t have to contain any bodily fluid for that very reason. I mean we can do the ritual sex if you want...”_  
_“Not... necessarily,” Alec replied. “It doesn’t sound...”_  
_“Fun.” Magnus shook his head. “No, it actually looks like bloody hard work. I’d rather have sex for fun.”_  
_“But Magnus...” Alec began hesitantly. “If you cut off so much of that ritual...”_

_Magnus paused and licked his lips before looking at Alec again._

_“Alexander,” he said slowly. “I examined the ritual for its essential components. And I... yes, I took the liberty to modernise the periphery a bit. The very heart of the ritual though... that is the same. But again,” he rested a hand against Alec’s chest, right above his heart, “all it takes is one word from you if you’re not comfortable going through with this and-”_  
_“No,” Alec cut in. “No, I want this. I was just... wondering.”_

_Magnus leaned closer with a smile and pecked a kiss onto Alec’s lips. “Then follow me.”_

_And with that he unbelted the robe and let it drop to the ground. The golden satin slid down his body like a caress and pooled at his feet. Alec needed a moment to snap his mouth shut before he gave Magnus a lopsided smile._

_“Alexander... it’s not as if we haven’t seen each other in nothing but our skin before.”_  
_Alec chuckled softly and undid the towel. “Of course not. I was just surprised. But I guess it kind of makes sense.”_

_He dropped the towel, and Magnus gestured at him to sit down on one side of the little table. He sat down cross-legged on the other side and picked up one of the small vials._

_“Drink this,” he said softly. “It will take your mind into that ascended state I talked about earlier. And then...” Magnus took a deep breath. “Then there is the extraction ritual.”_  
_“And what exactly...” Alec cleared his throat._  
_“A piece of your soul.” Magnus hesitated a moment. “I need to extract a sliver of your soul, and of mine.”_  
_Alec nodded._  
_“Do you still want this?”_  
_“Yes,” Alec said without hesitation. “I trust you, Magnus.”_

_Magnus’ eyes were as warm as his smile, and then he dropped his glamour before he took a vial that matched Alec’s, and uncorked it. Alec brought the vial to his lips and emptied it, while Magnus did the same._

_Only moments later Alec’s eyes widened and his eyes filled with tears. He stared at Magnus with parted lips. “You’re so beautiful...”_  
_“So are you,” Magnus whispered, and swallowed._

_The halos of the candles were a bright gold, the scent of sandalwood filling the senses. Everything seemed so much sharper, so much clearer._

_Then Magnus leaned forward and reached out to rest the tip of his forefinger right against Alec’s solar plexus. He left it there for a moment, and when he pulled it back his fingertip was coated in a soft, blue light. Alec exhaled sharply as Magnus removed the finger, and stared at the light, completely transfixed._

_Magnus dropped the blue light into a small bowl that was waiting there on the little table, and repeated the process with himself. The liquid in the bowl began to glow, gold and silver swirls giving it the appearance of being alive._

_Magnus waited for a moment before he took the bowl and poured the content into two small cups. He handed one to Alec and took the other. Then he closed his eyes and spoke, a chant in a foreign language that felt old and that made his voice sound heavy and almost metallic. It seemed to echo in the empty room, and seemed to linger in the air even after Magnus had finished._

_“Now, repeat after me,” he said then._

_Alec nodded._

_“You and me, forever,” Magnus said, “Soul to soul, forever. And while I will forget, my soul will remember, forever.”_  
_“You and me, forever,” Alec repeated, his eyes never leaving Magnus’, “Soul to soul, forever. And while I will forget, my soul will remember, forever.”_

_Magnus paused and lifted the cup to his lips. “Anantya,” he said before he drank._  
_“Anantya,” Alec said as well and emptied his own cup._

_Magnus put the cup down and beckoned Alec close, and as soon as Alec was within reach he pulled him into a kiss. They sank back into the pillows, arms around each other, and made love until they could no longer move and sunlight was streaming through the windows again._

 

Magnus looked at his ring and a sad, wistful smile appeared on his lips. He sighed, blinking his tears away, and let his thumb caress the ring again.

So Alec had decided to ask for another ritual. A mundane one. And wasn’t it the perfect image of their relationship... mundane and mystic, like two sides of a coin.

A sudden thought arose in his mind and he felt his heartbeat begin to stutter. He pulled the ring off his finger and after swallowing hard, and another deep, heavy breath, he looked inside for the first time. He hadn’t thought of checking for an engraving before.

And there it was, inside the ring. A single word. Like a promise. A promise both had always known could never be kept.

A wish.

_  
_


	3. Iter - Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't happy with the transition from the last chapter to the next chapter which has given me quite the headache before I realised that I need to do the transition as a stand-alone. It's only a handful of words but I felt they need to be out there. The next chapter is almost done, so it shouldn't take long.
> 
> Edit: Look at the beautiful drawing apathyinreverie made for me!

_The pain is over, and he has emerged from the darkness and the fear._

_But what he has carried with him is regret._

_“I am not ready,” he says._

_“No one ever is,” the guardian replies._

_It still hurts. Not his body, because he doesn’t have one. He knows he is dead. But some feelings have travelled with him._

_“You shall pass on,” the guardian says._

_“Where?” He asks._

_The being of light steps aside._

_“You are unlike the others,” the guardian says. “You have a choice to make.”_

_There are two doors._

_“How? How do I choose?”_

_“Wisely,” is the cryptic reply._

_He looks at the doors. Both are open._

_One leads into light. The other…_

_The other leads into darkness, but the darkness is not absolute. There is something beyond. It is not a frightening darkness._

_And something deep inside him pulls him there._

_He knows that one door leads him into the afterlife promised by the legends of his people. He does not know where the other one will lead him. But he steps through it without hesitation._

_The moment he does, the door vanishes behind him. And there are two more doors in front of him._

_A dark one, and a white one._

_Without knowing why, he chooses the dark one._

_The same happens. The door through which he walked is gone, and there are two more. He makes his choice every time without knowing why. Just does what feels right, deep down._

_One door looks like it is made of wood, the other looks like steel. He chooses wood._

_One door is purple, the other yellow. He chooses purple._

_One door looks like ebony, the other like mother-of-pearl. He chooses ebony._

_One door looks like silver, the other like copper. He chooses silver._

_One door is jet black, the other dark gold. He chooses gold._

_Behind the door darkness envelopes him, and he forgets. Warmth embraces him, and a heartbeat pulses softly in his ear as he falls asleep._


	4. E tenebris – Out of the darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains an attempt at self-harm and the mention of a suicide attempt. It's nothing graphic, but it's probably better to put this here.

The scream echoed through the house and moments later a door flew open. The boy was six, maybe seven years old at most, and his face was white, wet with tears, and he had absolute, naked terror in his eyes as he stumbled down the corridor. 

Both his parents had shot upright and his father was already half out of the bed when the boy fell through the door.

“The demon is back! The demon,” a hiccup sob, “the demon is back...”  
“Sandy, darling...” His mother held out her arms. “Come here.”

Sandy crawled into his mother’s bed and under the blanket.

“Oh baby... you’re ice cold.”  
“The d-demon was back...” The boy’s voice was shaking. “He k-killed me...”

She looked at her husband. “Ashur?”

Her husband simply nodded and left the bedroom. 

He came back shortly after, and after getting back to bed, he touched his son’s head. “I checked, Sandy. I couldn’t detect any traces of demonic magic.”  
“But he was there! He killed me!” Sandy was still shaking. “Right here!” And he pointed at his solar plexus.  
“I know. He did. In your dream.” Ashur’s voice was gentle. “But he wasn’t there, in your room. Go to sleep, and tomorrow I will put up some wards under your bed, okay?”  
“Okay,” Sandy sniffled, and now began to calm down. 

His parents exchanged a worried look, like so many times before. 

“Mariana,” Ashur said softly when the boy had finally fallen asleep again.  
“I know,” she whispered back. “We should...” Then she sighed. “We need to see Ambrose again. But... he couldn’t do anything last time.”  
“Then we have to find someone else,” her husband replied. “There has to be someone who can help him.”

With Ashur being the high warlock of Johannesburg there weren’t many warlocks who could match him in knowledge or skill, and he still wasn’t able to help his son with his nightmares and all his other troubles. But despite his station he was not above asking, or even begging, for help. And eventually, after weeks of inquiring and research, they ended up talking to a warlock and mystic named Yemane in Addis Ababa.

Seven year old Sandy was clearly afraid of this man with his large, dark eyes and a face full of piercings and ritual scars, but the mystic’s voice was deep and gentle. 

“Calm now, young warlock. What is it that ails you?”

Sandy swallowed and looked helplessly at his mother.

“He is...” His mother began. “He is... I don’t know how to describe it. He has terrible nightmares, has always had them, and... and something is interfering with his magic, somehow. It’s as if he has been cursed... but we can’t find a trace of influencing magic on him.”

The mystic walked around the boy, his eyes narrow. “And he has always been like this?”  
“He has,” Ashur replied.  
“And he is yours as well?” Yemane looked up.  
“Yes.”  
“A child of two warlocks?”

Sandy’s parents exchanged a deeply worried and uncomfortable look. 

“Look,” Mariana said after a moment. “We knew the risks. But we wanted... we wanted him so much.” She rested a hand in Sandy’s almost black hair. “But do you really think this is because... because of him being fathered by a warlock instead of a demon?”

“I wish I knew,” the mystic replied. Then he went into a crouch and reached out for the boy. “Give me your hand.”  
Sandy hesitantly reached out, his little hand trembling.  
“Do not be afraid. I will not hurt you. I am trying to help you.”

A faint purple glow surrounded the mystic’s hands as he examined Sandy closely, and in the end he shook his head. 

“I see what you mean with the interference. His magic... it is there. But something seems to block it.”  
“There is a little seeping out, but he cannot tap into it properly,” Ashur replied. “And we were hoping you could find a way to fix it.”

“What about his warlock mark?”  
Mariana closed her eyes for a second. “It is... just as his magic. It’s there, and it’s clear what it should be, but...”  
“I need to see it.”

“Come on, Sandy.” His mother ran her hand through Sandy’s hair again. “You need to show him.”  
“I don’t want to,” Sandy said miserably, tears rolling down his cheeks.  
“It’s going to be okay.”

Ashur helped his son out of his shirt, and the boy turned around to show his back to the other warlock. Moments later they appeared: two small, wrinkly limbs that looked a bit like arms but much, much thinner. They had neither feathers nor hair, nor any kind of skin or webbing attached to his back.

“My father is an incubus,” Mariana said, “and I have his wings as my warlock mark. It’s clear that he should have wings too, but...”  
“Something just went wrong,” the mystic replied. 

He stared at the boy for a moment longer. 

“You can dress again, my boy,” he said and tapped his chin with his forefinger. Then he looked at Sandy’s mother. “I have never seen or heard of anything like this,” he said slowly. “He is a warlock, that much is clear, but his magic is stunted, for some reason. And I don’t think it has to do with his parentage. Warlocks rarely have children, but it is not unheard of.”

Ashur and Mariana exchanged another uneasy look. 

“I do not have answers right now,” Yemane went on. “But I will consult every source I have. And considering the age of your son, I shall come and see you in Johannesburg.”

“Can we go home now?” Sandy asked timidly.  
“Yes, darling, we’re going home,” his mother replied. 

Ashur and Yemane shook hands before they parted, and the Ethiopian warlock promised again to do what was in his powers to help. 

And then all they could do was wait.

Yemane portalled in from Addis Ababa three weeks later, but he didn’t bear good news.

“I have consulted every scroll and book, spoken to everyone I hoped might have answers, and they, too, tried to help and looked through their libraries.” Yemane shook his head. “We found nothing.”

Mariana and Ashur looked at each other, and Ashur took his wife’s hand as she wiped her cheek with the other. 

“There are quite a few who blame it on his parentage, but I highly doubt that, myself,” Yemane said. “Warlock children do exist and I have never heard of anything like this.”  
“We knew the risks,” Ashur said, as he had so often done. “Believe us, we thought about it for more than a century.”  
“And you felt adopting a warlock child would not be the same.”  
“We... we shouldn’t have, I know.” Ashur shook his head. “And we knew that if we both had passed on the mundane part of us we would have... we knew we would have had to give him up. I cannot tell you how much joy we felt when we discovered his budding warlock mark.”

“But they never grew much out of the budding state,” Yemena said slowly and thoughtfully. “And neither did his magic.” He tapped his chin. “And he has dreams about demons.”  
“Actually,” Mariana supplied, “it is only one demon. It’s always the same.”  
“Could he describe him?”  
Ashur shook his head. “All he could ever tell us is that it’s huge, and black, and has long, bony tentacles instead of wings on his back, and that he spears him right through the abdomen with one of those.”

“Strange,” Yemena muttered. Then he looked at Mariana. “I would like to see the dream. Is he home?”  
“He is. I go get him.”

“I looked into this dream a good many times,” Ashur said after his wife had left. “I could never find a demon like it. I hope with all my heart that you see something that I did not.”  
“So do I.” Yemena shook his head. “The poor boy.”  
“But do you think it is that demon who’s the root of all this?”  
“It might be, and it might not be.” Yemena shrugged. “Although it seems plausible.”

As last time Sandy was afraid of the strange warlock, and it took a good bit of coaxing and him sitting on his mother’s lap with her arms around him before he let the mystic access his mind. 

“I have never seen that kind of creature either,” Yemana said as he straightened up again while Sandy burrowed into his mother’s embrace. “But I will do what I can.” Then he looked at Sandy again. “My boy?”  
Sandy peeled his face out of his mother’s shoulder and sniffled.  
“Who was that man?”  
“What man?” Sandy asked a childish frown.  
“I looked at your dreams, and I saw the demon. But there is also a man. I have seen him often.”

“I don’t know,” Sandy said after a moment. “He’s just... there.”  
“And you are not afraid of him?”  
Sandy shook his head.

Yemena seemed more puzzled than ever. 

“You have never told us about the man,” Mariana said, but without reproach.  
“I’m not scared of him,” Sandy said as an explanation.  
“His image wasn’t clear,” Yemena supplied. “But he did indeed not seem to be threatening.”

“Puzzles and more puzzles,” Ashur said and stepped close to his wife and son, resting a hand on Mariana’s shoulder.  
“I shall do what I can to identify the demon,” Yemana said. “As you said, maybe I find something that you overlooked.”  
“I hope so with all my heart,” Ashur replied. 

Yemena nodded and summoned a portal. “I shall be seeing you.”

Ashur just nodded, defeat written all over him. Then he straightened his shoulders and turned around to look at his wife and son. 

“I could use a treat,” he said and sighed. “Should I conjure up a few Belgian waffles?”

Sandy’s eyes lit up and he nodded. That brought back a smile to his father’s face, and he held out his hands to his son, who then hopped from his mother’s lap to accompany his father into the kitchen. Belgian waffles were his absolute favourite, and he had yet to say no to them, no matter the circumstances.

* * *

There were three warlock children in all in Johannesburg, and they were all schooled in magic together, by several warlocks who took turns in teaching them. 

Sandy hated those classes. 

There was Carla, her warlock mark delicate dorsal-fin shaped ears and webbing between her fingers, and she only concealed it when she absolutely had to. She was two years older than Sandy and didn’t let a single chance pass her by to flaunt her superior powers into Sandy’s face. 

Youan was three years younger and he could already do some of the basic spells.

And here Sandy was ten years old and he was barely able to light a candle, and maybe levitate a small item or two, utmost.

He hated both of them, especially because they laughed so much at him, teasing him about his magic and his stupid warlock mark until he was in tears. No matter the consequences, because they got told off when someone heard them. But they were clever. There wasn’t always an adult around who heard. And Sandy really didn’t want to run to his parents all the time one of the two said something mean. Because they made fun of that as well. 

Yemena, the scary warlock, had shown up several times more, and had never been able to find something. They had even been to Russia to speak to the high warlock of Moscow, but even in Pavlovich’s huge, gigantic library the only thing they had found was that a long, long time ago a higher demon had made some of those creatures from his dreams as hunters. They hadn’t been seen in millennia, Pavlovich had said, but a hunter couldn’t have the powers or intelligence to give him those dreams. 

And then they always asked about the man in Sandy’s dreams, but Sandy knew that he didn’t have to be afraid of him. He just _knew_. But no one listened to him. They probed around in his head trying to get a clear image of him, but nothing worked. Which was fine by Sandy because he knew the man wasn’t evil.

Sandy didn’t talk about him anymore. He talked to nobody about the man, unless they made him, because the adults were making a terrible fuss about him and thought his magic and his warlock mark and all that was _his_ fault and Sandy knew it wasn’t. And the other children just used it as one more reason to laugh at him. 

He hated the other two warlock children with a passion for making his life hell all the time. The mundanes in his school loved making fun of him too, because he was too tall and too thin and he blushed when he was nervous, and he was nervous most of the time. So he avoided any of them after school as well; he stayed in his room and he read books. Tried to force himself to do magic. Tried so hard sometimes that he was about to pass out. 

He could light candles. He could levitate objects. Things any warlock could do by the age of five. Carla was already learning how to summon portals. Yaoun was showing promise with healing magic. And Sandy? He was a joke. A bad joke. He wasn’t a mundane, but he would never be a real warlock either. Not with this ridiculous magic, and that ridiculous and ugly warlock mark. 

Sandy seriously began to wish he could at least become mundane. Maybe he could find friends and a job, and just... be one of them. A teacher, maybe. Or a chef. A part of them. Because he wasn’t a part of the warlock community. He was only allowed here out of pity, he knew. It was pity. Nothing else. 

At least the demon wasn’t there to haunt him anymore, not that often at least. He would come, occasionally, and kill him, but it only happened rarely now. Instead, there was that man, the one Sandy wasn’t afraid of. He never could remember quite what he had dreamed, or remember his face, but he was never, ever afraid of him. 

Sandy wished he was real. He was in his dreams, as well as the demon. Maybe the man could help him. Step into the other dream and fight the demon and make him go away. 

He wished with all his heart he were real.

* * *

Sandy celebrated his twelfth birthday alone. He still didn’t have any mundane friends at school and Carla and Yaoun were the absolute last people he would have invited into his house, and his room. So he ate some cake with his parents and a few other warlocks who had brought gifts for him, gifts that he didn’t want because screw them and their pity. Screw everything. 

All of them had their marks unglamoured; there was his father with his beautiful curled horns, his mother with her delicate wings, and Madame Sura with patches of golden scales, and Dante’s double-pupil eyes and the ridge of spikes on the top of his head. And here he was, with those pathetic little crippled and naked bony finger-tentacle things on his back. 

He locked himself into his room with his Xbox and didn’t come out again until his mother called for dinner. 

Sandy didn’t sleep that night; he simply couldn’t stop thinking about all those other warlock marks, and what he was stuck with for the rest of his life. Which was pretty much forever, because he was immortal. 

Life just plain fucking sucked. 

And there was nothing he could do about it.

Sandy shot upright. Or was there?

He got out of bed and tiptoed into the kitchen. Took the filleting knife, the sharpest one. And locked himself in the downstairs bathroom. 

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, and after taking off his shirt, deglamoured and unfolded those ugly little things on his back. He didn’t want them. He didn’t want them, and he would get rid of them, and then he would bury himself into his parents’ library and find more books about summoning demons, because those rituals, he had to be able to do them, right? Even mundanes could summon demons with the right instructions, so he could do it too. And then he would find one who could take his magic, and he would get rid of these stinking ugly things on his back, and he would go where nobody would know him, and live a normal life where nobody would laugh about him all the time. Become a chef and have a restaurant. 

Yah, sure, he would have to _cook_ , Carla kept saying all the time with so much disdain it made Sandy want to punch her. Because he couldn’t just conjure up a meal, like a _proper_ warlock.

He didn’t even want to be a warlock anymore at this point.

The knife was awfully sharp, but Sandy had still underestimated the toughness of skin and flesh, and had failed to account for the fact that he couldn’t just hack them off because he couldn’t cut through bones. He would have to carve them out, dissect them like a butcher took an animal carcass apart. As it was, the knife sliced into his flesh and seconds later it clattered to the ground. 

He didn’t want to cry. Had wanted to stay silent. If he had any magic to speak of he would have cast a silence ward over the bathroom, but because he was a pathetic piece of shit he had cried out, and now he could hear his parents thundering down the stairs. His father snapped the lock with his magic, and Sandy curled up while hot, sticky blood dribbled down his back. 

“Sandy!” His mother screamed. “Sandy, what the hell are you doing?”  
“I don’t want them,” Sandy sobbed into his hands. He really couldn’t do _anything_ right. “I don’t want them! I don’t want them!!”

He felt the warmth of his mother’s healing magic and curled up even tighter as the pain began to vanish. He didn’t know what to do. He certainly didn’t want his mother to hug him as if he was a baby, so he pushed her away and ran past his father up the stairs and into his room. After slamming the door shut he fell onto his bed and buried his face into the pillow. And he cried until he could hardly breathe anymore. 

His father vanished for two weeks after that, into the Spiral Labyrinth, to look for answers there. But he came back empty-handed. 

Sandy was convinced the universe hated him, and it wasn’t fair because he hadn’t done anything wrong. 

And if his parents weren’t warlocks then Sandy wouldn’t have lived to see his fourteenth birthday. Since the day he had tried to cut off his warlock mark his parents had set wards on everything with a blade in the house, so Sandy had tried to end himself with a rope. He had been in cardiac arrest when his parents had found him in the basement.

He refused to go to warlock school anymore. He refused to go to school, he refused to talk to anyone, because he didn’t want pity. He didn’t want all that well-meaning crap about life being precious because really, his life wasn’t worth anything. He couldn’t live with mundanes, and he had no place in the warlock community either. He didn’t belong anywhere and he was sick and tired of being alone and being ridiculed and pitied.

In the end, it was Madame Sura who made him change his mind about trying to throw himself in front of a train. Or at least he toyed with the thought, because his parents had cast a ward on him, with Sandy’s knowledge but without his consent. Sure, they didn’t want him to kill himself. But it was his life, not theirs. And maybe he would do it anyway. Screw them and their wards and their rules. Screw everything. They had their magic and everything, and he had nothing.

Madame Sura was just visiting his mother, but that day Sandy suspected that she had actually come to see him. After she had had some tea with Mariana, Madame Sura took him aside, towards the oriel window in the living room. 

“Look, boy,” she said, her deep voice soft and smooth. “I know you don’t want pity. And I won’t say that life is precious, because you choose to believe otherwise. All I want is to ask you one question.”

Sandy gritted his teeth and looked at her. Madame Sura was a large, tall woman with an aura to match her size. You didn’t want to end up on her bad side, so he swallowed a curt reply and nodded.

“Good,” she said. “Then listen.” She met his eyes in an intense glare. “Tell me, would you want to take someone’s chance away of finding something or someone which would mean everything to them? The one thing, the one person, that will make their life complete? The one thing, the one person, that will make them happy? Would you take that away?”  
Sandy frowned at her in confusion, then shook his head. “...no?”  
“And yet you are planning to take it from yourself.”

Sandy was at a loss for words and gritted his teeth. Madame Sura now rested her hand on Sandy’s shoulder, and Sandy looked at her fingers, and the contrast of the heavy golden rings against her dark brown skin. And something tugged at his mind. Something about the gold.

And then he remembered. 

The man in his dreams. He had golden eyes. 

Sandy had never thought about it. The face had always escaped him, as soon as he had woken up there had ever only been a shadow of that face in his memory. Why he suddenly knew without a trace of doubt that this man had golden eyes was beyond him. 

“Madame Sura,” he began, his throat dry. “I need to tell you something.”  
“Go ahead.”  
“But please don’t tell my parents.”  
“Your secret is safe with me, I swear.”

Sandy nodded and took a deep breath, and proceeded to tell her about the man in his dreams, and that he was sure, without knowing how and why, that he had nothing to do with the demon. And that he wasn’t afraid of him. And that he wished he was real. And that for whatever reason, he had just remembered that he had golden eyes.

Madame Sura listened, and didn’t interrupt him once. Even after he had ended, she didn’t immediately speak. 

“The fates work in mysterious ways,” she said eventually. “From what I understand though is that the older you got, the clearer the image of that man became?”  
Sandy nodded, but then shrugged. “I still don’t really know how he looks, though.”  
“Then it might well be a vision.”  
“So... I have to find him?”  
Madame Sura smiled and shook her head, and her large golden earrings caught the sun in small flashes of light. “Only you know that, Alexander. I cannot tell you what to do. But if you would hear my advice, then yes... you should find him.”  
“But I don’t know who he is,” Sandy said, defeat already bitter on his tongue. “I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know where to start looking. I could... like, run around the world fore-” Then he broke off and realised what was happening.

Madame Sura looked at him, and a knowing smile spread across her face.

“That’s it, right? That’s what I am supposed to live for.”  
“That is your decision to make,” she replied.  
“What if I never find him?”  
“You won’t, if you don’t try.”  
Sandy crossed his arms. “So no killing myself, huh?”  
“It’s either one or the other, young warlock. And you may struggle with your magic, but you do have all the time in the world, if you choose to use it.”

Biting his lips, Sandy looked at his feet. The hand on his shoulder grew a little heavier.

“Say,” Madame Sura asked, her voice even lower. “Have you ever been in love?”  
Sandy jerked his head up and stared at her. “What has that got to do with anything?”  
“Maybe it’s of no consequence,” Madame Sura replied. “But for a young man like you, this is just another question that he desperately needs answers to.”  
“And you think he has those answers?”  
“Maybe.” She dropped her hand again. “Maybe not. Maybe not all of them. But I believe he can help you find them, at the very least.”

She left him then, and Sandy stared out of the window. The sun was already hanging low, and the golden rays cast long shadows, outside and in the room. Dust motes danced in the golden light like tiny dots of brilliant white. 

Sandy dreamed of golden eyes that night.


	5. In ignotis – Into the unknown

Since the day he had spoken to Madame Sura, Sandy was wondering how to possibly find someone whose name and face he didn’t know. The thought of going to every city in this world and ask anyone he met if they happened to know a man with golden eyes felt impossible, so for now he focused on other problems, hoping he could come up with something better. 

Planning his search became the one thing Sandy’s life was revolving around. He went back to school though, but more because he felt that finishing high school and get a degree would provide him with some sort of closure on that chapter of his life.

The first item on his preparation list was languages. He could get by with English in most parts of the world, and since he literally had all the time in the world, he could properly explore any amount of countries and their cities, their language, and their downworld societies. But to start with he wanted to be as best equipped as he could, and since his school offered classes in French and Spanish he signed up for those.

Sandy was still the butt of every joke of course, but ever since the day he had realised what he was supposed to do with his life it didn’t bother him anymore. He had more important things on his mind.

He worked on his language classes and spent at least three afternoons a week in the high school’s gym because he felt physical fitness was a necessity for such an undertaking, and knowing that he couldn’t rely on magic to keep him safe he also took courses in martial arts. 

All that training helped him fill out his form, and as he built up muscles and stamina he eventually stopped looking like a gangly collection of knees and elbows. It happened gradually without him being aware of it, but one day he left the shower, looked at himself in the mirror, and found a strange smile on his face when he discovered he liked what he saw. 

The things on his back were still there and still as crippled and ugly as the day they had emerged, but Sandy tried to make peace with them. He couldn’t do anything about them, but he didn’t have to look at them unless he consciously unglamoured them in front of the mirror. And doing that was entirely his own choice now. His parents had given up trying to find someone to fix him, as the problem obviously couldn’t be fixed with magic and that gave him a lot more space to breathe. 

It was an extreme relief for Sandy that he wasn’t dragged from pillar to post anymore all the time, with people asking countless questions and probing around in his mind. With Madame Sura’s help he had finally managed to convince his parents that the man from his dreams had nothing to do with the demon, but might be able to help him with his other troubles. 

And then there was another, rather unexpected side effect of all his preparations. Or rather unexpected for Sandy, because when he talked about it at home his parents just smiled and seemed completely unfazed by his discovery. 

All that training and shaping his body had put him into the spotlight for a lot of girls at his school. Suddenly they looked at him in a totally different way, and they didn’t mock him anymore, they smiled and even giggled when he walked past them. 

Sandy realised that he had suddenly entered the realm of dateable boys. Only, he wasn’t interested in the slightest. He smiled back, but politely and distantly, because he didn’t want to encourage any of the girls to make a move. He wasn’t petty and wouldn’t enjoy giving any of them a brush-off, but he knew that no matter how innocent the invitation for ice cream or coffee came across, they weren’t interested in friendship. 

Guys, he had discovered a while ago, were a lot more interesting, but no matter how many times he looked at a nice butt or a perfect set of shoulders, none of them ever caught his interest enough to do anything about it. He simply didn’t feel any kind of sexual attraction to anyone. 

It was just another thing that was wrong with him. He hadn’t even had a crush on someone, ever. He looked at nice bodies, handsome faces, beautiful smiles, but nothing ever caused him to actually feel something. 

The first time however he had a wet dream that somehow featured golden eyes he had been so mortified he had taken a shower so long and so cold that his lips had been blue when he had left the bathroom. 

It happened again a few times, and by the time Sandy was seventeen, he had never had a girlfriend or boyfriend. He had never felt any attraction to anyone else, but whenever he happened to have a wet dream it always featured the man with the golden eyes. He felt so embarrassed he couldn’t even bring himself to talk to Madame Sura about it.

* * *

Another part of his preparations was learning how to send fire messages. There might not always be reception or internet, and he wanted to be able to get in touch with his parents. He knew situations might come up he wouldn’t be able to handle, having no magic to defend himself or to get him out, and his dad portalling in as emergency measure was something Sandy had to admit might be necessary at one point. 

But as everything magic, fire messaging was a herculean task. It took him months of hard work and stubborn practise to even send a message across the house, but Sandy didn’t give up. He hadn’t given up after he had ended up a wheezing bag of failure when starting in the gym. He hadn’t given up after having been flung onto his back more times than he could count during the beginning of his martial arts training. He hadn’t given up when hammering grammar and vocabulary into his head for hours hadn’t resulted in the grades he had wanted. 

He didn’t give up now. 

It took Sandy the better part of a year, but he finally made it and cracked the barrier in his mind for at least this one small thing. It didn’t always work; sometimes the magic just fizzled out and a few small flakes of ash drifting from his hands were all that remained, but it worked more often than not and Sandy counted that as a win. 

With his approaching eighteenth birthday, Sandy was ready to tackle this new chapter of his life. His parents had set up a bank account for him they had access to, so they could send money if he was running low but had no means to contact them. And Sandy was more grateful than ever about his parents doing anything in their power to support him. He knew that whatever might go wrong, wherever he would be, they would have his back. And knowing his parents were only a phone call or fire message away made the whole task a little less daunting.

Madame Sura came over for dinner the day before Sandy would leave Johannesburg, and they discussed his travel plans one last time. 

“Cape Town to Kairo,” Sandy said and looked at the map he had spread out before him. “And that’s going to take a while.” He frowned as he traced the lines he had drawn between all the major cities in every country of this huge continent. “I wish I had a clue.”

“Chin up,” Madame Sura said with a smile. “One day the fates will provide you with directions.”  
Sandy looked up at her. “Are you sure?”  
“Everything became clearer, and easier to understand and remember, with time,” she replied with a small shrug. “I see no reason why that should not continue.”

Sandy nodded thoughtfully and looked at the map again. It would take years, more likely decades, to travel across Africa, so he really hoped Madame Sura was right because the world is a big place if you’re trying to find a person you don’t even know. But one step at a time. He would decide how to continue once he had reached Kairo, and there might have come something up by then. 

Two days after his graduation Sandy was all set and ready to go. He had a list of those high warlocks that his father knew, but that was all anyone could ever help him with. Everything else was up to Sandy now. 

“Take care of yourself and be careful,” his mother said for the hundredth time as they said goodbye at the airport.  
“I will, Mum. Don’t worry.” Sandy kissed her cheek. “And I will call and practise sending fire messages.”  
His mother nodded and kissed his forehead before letting go. “Love you.”  
“Love you too.”

Ashur gave his son another hug and patted his shoulder while wiping his eyes with the other hand. “Take care. And remember that we’re here for you, no matter what happens.”  
“Thank you, Dad.” Sandy shouldered his backpack again. “For everything.”

He waved at his parents one last time before he headed for the check-in area, and then he was alone. He was really doing this. He was really on his way to start a journey that would lead him across the world to find someone he only knew from his dreams. It was madness. 

But Sandy embraced it with a smile.

* * *

Excitement soon wore off, and after a few months, Sandy began to doubt his plan. He wasn’t sure anymore if he could handle a string of disappointments that would last decades, at best. And after a few more months and a few more cities, he found himself sitting in the room of a dingy little hostel in a small city in northern Namibia, and wondered if he should book a flight home to Johannesburg because this would get him nowhere. 

But Sandy dreamed of golden eyes again that night, and he woke up to discover his pillow had wet spots. He must have cried in his sleep. With a sigh Sandy sat back against the wall and pulled up his legs, and slinging his arms around his knees he let his head drop back. 

“You want me to find you, don’t you?” He whispered and closed his eyes. The heavy feeling he had awoken with still hadn’t left him. “Maybe you even need me to find you.” Sandy shook his head. “I need a clue. I want to find you, I really do, but I don’t know where to look.”

He still had no clue the next morning, and he still didn’t know what else to do other than go on. He didn’t buy a ticket to Johannesburg, though. He headed back to Windhoek and took the next flight to Bulawayo in Zimbabwe.

* * *

Months turned into years as Sandy criss-crossed through Africa. He knew which areas to steer clear of to avoid ending up in a warzone, and continued his way from city to city, asking the same questions everywhere, with the same result. 

It took him almost ten years until he finally set foot in Kairo. 

Europe seemed the only logical choice from here, so Sandy took a plane to Lisbon. And once settled in a hotel because he had enough of cheap hostels for a while, he took his map out and looked at it. 

He had lost count of how many cities in Africa he had visited, how many warlocks and high warlocks he had spoken to, how many downworlder dens he had found. But lately, his dreams had changed again. Not much, not dramatically, but somehow everything became a little more palpable. And that first morning in Lisbon, Sandy awoke for the first time with a real recollection of a face. 

It still wasn’t a clear image; it looked more like the reflection in not quite still water. But this was his first actual clue, as faint as it might be: the man seemed to have Asian features. It was still next to nothing, but now he toyed with the thought of skipping Europe, because where would the chance be higher to find someone with Asian features than in Asia? But people with Asian features lived all over the world of course, so in the end he decided to stick to his plan to cover Europe and then head east, through Russia and the adjacent countries, towards the west coast of China. 

Sandy liked Europe. All those different cultures and languages on so little space were fascinating. He loved France and Italy, and he quite liked the British Isles and especially Ireland, and maybe spent a little longer on the Emerald Isle than strictly necessary. In London Sandy briefly wondered if he should change plans and head west instead, to the States, but in the end he headed on towards the Scandinavian countries, and crossed the Baltic Sea on a ferry from Stockholm to Riga.

And somewhere in Europe, Sandy reached his age of maturity. He had finally stopped aging, would now forever look like a man in his late twenties, and he found a warlock in Warsaw who adjusted his passport so the date of birth matched his looks. 

At one point Sandy was finally able to summon the man’s face in his mind even when awake, and more than anything he wished that he could use a projection spell to transfer the image from his mind onto paper. It would have made things so much easier, but it wasn’t an option. So he chose the next best thing that was available to him, and he bought his first sketchbook and a handful of pencils in Bucharest. 

It was a tedious undertaking. Sandy didn’t really have artistic talent, and so he had to tackle the drawing like he had tackled anything else: with sheer, bloody stubbornness.

After years and years of practising, he was finally able to draw realistic portraits of faces he saw, but by the time he had reached Shanghai, the one face he desperately wanted to get down still escaped him. The face was there, in his mind, but he simply failed to get it satisfactorily onto paper. Whatever he produced had a vague resemblance, but looked more like a generic face than a portrait. 

Once he had crossed China, Sandy spent more than twenty years travelling from Japan south-east to India and back west to Indonesia. But wherever he turned to, no one had ever seen a man like the one he described. 

He eventually ended up in the Philippines in desperate need of a break. Sitting on a bench in a park in Davao, watching the people pass him by, Sandy idly sketched away and tried to count the years he had already been on the road. He felt his heart grow heavy as he realised it was almost half a century. 

Sandy had again doodled the face of the man with the golden eyes all over the pages, and he still hadn’t gotten it right, even after so many years. And he wondered if he ever would.

He was tired. He just wanted to find him already so he could stay in one place for a while, but though nothing held him back from settling anywhere, he knew he could never find peace as long as he had not found him. 

Sandy looked at his sketchbook again with a sigh. He could easily go back to every country between Japan, India and New Guinea and spend another twenty years in this part of the world. But Asian features didn’t mean he would find him here, so now Sandy had a decision to make. 

He had no idea why this was so hard. 

He had needed three days in London to make up his mind if he should take a plane to New York or Oslo, and had in the end decided to head east. Now he was faced with the decision between Australia and New Zealand to continue from there to South America and north, or to cross the Pacific straight away towards Canada or California. 

In the end he pulled the old copper penny he had bought in an antique shop in London as a souvenir out of his pocket and looked at it. 

Heads – North America, tails – Australia.

Then he flipped the coin, and looked at the profile of Queen Elizabeth for almost a minute before he closed his hand around the penny and nodded. 

The first flight crossing the Pacific he could get was to Los Angeles, another seventeen hours on a plane. Sandy forcefully suppressed the thought of what would happen once he had crossed the world and still hadn’t found the one he was looking for.

* * *

It was hardly a week after Sandy had touched American soil that his dreams changed again, drastically and frighteningly fast. 

In addition to the man there were other people now, but faint and blurry, and the only one of them resembling a person more than a shadow seemed to be a man with blonde hair.

Another thing that suddenly appeared was a building, or more precisely, a church. What significance that could possibly have Sandy had no idea, but he drew it nonetheless because it gave him something to cling to. 

Sandy looked at the drawing of the church in growing frustration. “Great.” He slammed the sketchbook shut. “Not only find a man somewhere in the world, also find a church somewhere in the world. Anything else?” He threw the pencil at the wall. “A coffee shop?” 

After a moment he opened the sketchbook again to look at the drawing. The church had appeared only recently, and in surprising clarity given the fact that anything else from his dreams began as nothing more than blurry, vague impressions. 

Maybe that church was here in the States. Maybe he could finally find the man he was looking for if only he could find that church. But it was nondescript, a wooden door, two towers, white stone. There was nothing special or architectural interesting about that church, so maybe whatever was so important was inside. He still had to find it first, though.

But at long last, fifty-three years after Sandy had left Johannesburg, he finally got his first real lead in Phoenix. The local high warlock had heard of his father even if she wasn’t directly acquainted with him, and she agreed to help him. 

She didn’t know the man, but she looked at the drawing of the church with a thoughtful frown. “I have the feeling I have seen this before,” she said, and Sandy’s heart began to race. “But I can’t remember where, right now. Give me a few days to dig through my memory. I will be in touch.”

Sandy didn’t dare to hope, but couldn’t help it. He didn’t sleep that night at all, and spent most of it in a downworlder den getting thoroughly drunk to stop himself from thinking. The waiting was driving him mad, and when she finally contacted him after three days he was ready to accept another disappointment just to end this awful tension.

“Ah, Sandy,” she said with a smile as she opened the door. “Come in.”  
Sandy bit his lips. “Did you...?”  
“I did,” she said, very pleased with herself. “My memory is very reliable, but sometimes I need a bit of digging to find a specific item.”

She picked up the picture of the church she had kept as reference. “See, I have been to the local Shadowhunter Institute a few times, and they have this huge conference room, beats me why. Who do they want to impress? Downworlders?” She chuckled. “Anyway,” she went on, “I finally remembered where I had seen this. The walls in that conference room are covered in pictures, of all the Institutes in the United States. And I was absolutely positive that I saw this there.”

Sandy gritted his teeth. Her smile made him want to scream at her to get to the fucking point already. 

“I called in a favour from one of the Shadowhunters, and Io and behold, I have your building identified.” She handed him the picture back. “It’s the New York Institute.”

Sandy felt as if someone had hit him with a sack full of hammers. Decades ago, on a rainy day in London, he had made the choice between New York and Oslo... and he had chosen wrong. 

He managed to keep himself together long enough to thank her several times, and managed to keep himself going until he had reached his hotel room. 

Sandy spent the rest of the night alternating between crying and screaming into his pillow. It would have been ridiculous if it wasn’t driving him absolutely mad. 

All those wasted years...

He took the first flight east the next day, and as he stepped off the plane at JFK Airport he felt strange. He felt simultaneously more itchy and restless than ever before, and at the same time he felt as if his journey was already, and finally, over. 

But New York also made him feel like wanting to crawl out of his own skin. 

Sandy felt strangely apprehensive as he approached the building, but all of a sudden, as if he had stepped across an invisible threshold, it was as if he had been hit by a train. An explosive headache flared up behind his eyes, accompanied by a searing pain in his abdomen, and he could only double over and gasp in agony. 

It didn’t last for more than a few seconds, and he stumbled a few unsteady steps back, still clutching his abdomen. And as soon as he was able to walk upright again he broke into a run. 

After bringing more and more distance between him and the church Sandy was able to breathe again, but the uneasy feeling remained. He had finally found something, after so many years, but he only had been able to run as fast and far away as possible. And now he was almost afraid what would happen if he would find anything else.

A few hours of aimless wandering brought him past a small pub called the Mac Tíre. He had spent enough time in Ireland to know that it was the Irish word for wolf, and he entered what would be no more than a cosy little Irish pub to any mundane.

The barkeeper bore a telltale set of scars on his forearm. “What’ll it be?”  
“A coffee, please” Sandy replied. “As big and as strong as possible.”  
“Quite the day, hmm?” Now the barkeeper smiled a little. “Coming right up.”

Sandy settled down at the last empty table and buried his face in his hands. 

The feelings that looking at the church had caused him were wreaking havoc in his mind, and he had no idea what to think anymore. He needed something else to focus on, so he took out his sketchbook and a pencil. 

It felt as if his fingers flew across the paper by sheer magic, magic Sandy knew he didn’t possess. He let it happen and let it flow, and when he dropped the pencil again he stared at the face before him with a dry throat and a racing heart. The expression was somewhere between slightly amused and slightly thoughtful, and the eyes with slit pupils seemed to look right into his soul. Everything was so perfect as if he had been sitting here modelling for him. 

A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes for a few heartbeats. 

Something was about to go down.

Unable to tear his eyes away, Sandy didn’t look up from his drawing when someone entered the bar. 

“Hey Carl, how’s the pack?”  
“Shut up, you idiot,” the barkeeper hissed.  
Sandy didn’t look up from the drawing, but he knew what that was about. “I’m not a mundane,” he said simply, and the barkeeper relaxed again. 

“The usual?”  
“Thanks, man.” 

The stranger took his drink and looked around. 

Sandy wasn’t really paying attention, absorbed in the face before him, but when the newcomer gasped and almost dropped his cup Sandy looked up. It was a guy in jeans, converse, a faded band shirt and a ratty old flannel, and he stared at him with eyes so wide they seemed about to pop out of his head. 

He honest to god looked as if he was having a stroke. “A-Alec?”

“Um... I think you got the wrong guy.” But something cold crept down Sandy’s spine as he felt the other man’s eyes on him. The headache was back for another few heartbeats.

Something was definitely about to come down. If it hadn’t already.

The other man stared at him for a moment longer before he shook his head like a wet dog. Then he took a deep breath and huffed out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, sorry.... you look like someone I know.” The attempt at a smile vanished as his eyes unfocussed. “Knew. Sorry for... I know you’re not him. He... he died seventy years ago.”

He stood there for a moment, looking a little lost.

“Wanna sit here?” Sandy shoved his sketchbook aside. “I don’t mind.”  
“If I didn’t totally creep you out just now,” the stranger replied and sat down. “Name’s Simon.”  
“Simon,” Sandy repeated with a smile. “I’m Sandy.”  
“Is that short for Alexander?” Simon asked with a strange look in his eyes.  
“Yes, but it’s so... formal.” He toyed with his pencil. “Everyone calls me Sandy.”

Simon took a big gulp of his drink with closed eyes. 

Looking at him made Sandy’s skin crawl and made the headache behind his eyes even worse. But Simon was a downworlder from New York, and he needed to find someone to talk to anyway. 

“I just arrived today, but I didn’t think I’d meet another warlock so soon,” Sandy said eventually.  
“Oh.” Simon gave him a crooked smile. “I’m not a warlock.” He tilted his mug a little to show Sandy the content, a dark red, thick liquid. “Vampire.”

Just as he thought the day couldn’t get any weirder. “But it’s three in the afternoon...?”  
Simon wiggled his eyebrows. “I know, I know. But all the legends are true, right?” His smile turned smug. “I’m a daylighter.”  
Sandy’s mouth fell open. “A what?”   
Simon just smiled at him.   
“I’ll be damned.” Sandy shook his head. “That was the one thing I thought is truly a legend.”  
“Obviously not,” Simon replied brightly. 

Sandy had no idea what to reply, and he looked at his sketches again because he didn’t want to stare at the vampire like an idiot. 

“Did you draw that?” The wistfulness in Simon’s voice was impossible to miss as he pointed at the pictures of random people next to Sandy’s mug. Sandy had torn them out of the sketchbook to create a blank page without any lines pressed into the paper.  
“Yes.” Sandy toyed with his pencil. “Just... you know. Doodling.”

Simon didn’t reply, and kept staring at the drawings with a deep sadness in his eyes. “I knew someone who could draw like that,” he said. “She died years ago... and I still miss her.”  
“I’m sorry,” Sandy said softly, not knowing what else to say.  
“Long time ago,” Simon said again and was clearly trying to pull himself together. “So, you said you just arrived, what brings you to New York?”

Sandy hesitated for a moment, but decided that while Simon made him feel uncomfortable in an inexplicable way, he was the only person so far he could ask. 

“I’m... I’m looking for someone,” Sandy began. “I’m a warlock, you see... but something’s wrong with my magic. And I’m having those strange dreams about a man, and... I have to find him.”  
“Did he curse you?” Simon leaned forward.  
“I don’t... know,” Sandy replied. “And I don’t know why, but... I just know I have to find him. I think that maybe... maybe he can help me.”  
“And you think that man is in New York?”

Deciding that Simon didn’t need to know any details about half a century of travelling he just nodded. “I think he’s in New York, yes.”  
“But you don’t know who he is?”  
“No.” Sandy opened his sketchbook. “I only have a face.”  
“Let me have a look,” Simon replied and held out his hand. 

Simon’s face turned into an almost comical expression of disbelief and what looked like shock. 

“Do you know him?” Sandy’s heart began to race and he had to stop himself from yelling.  
Simon didn’t reply.  
“Simon? Do you know that man?”

After another moment Simon took a deep breath and put the sketchbook down as if it might explode into his face any moment. Then he looked at Sandy, shaking his head ever so slightly, as if he couldn’t believe what he just saw, or what he was about to say. 

“Yeah, I know him.” Simon swallowed. “His name is Magnus Bane. He’s the high warlock of Brooklyn.”


	6. Memori vos anima mea– My soul remembers you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my friend [apathyinreverie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apathyinreverie/pseuds/apathyinreverieapathyinreverie) made a beautiful gift, a drawing for chapter 3. Go check it out!

For a second, Sandy felt as if he has swallowed a bucket of rocks. The headache was back worse than before, throbbing in time with his racing heartbeat.

That name… he didn’t recognize it, but somewhere deep down he had the desperate feeling that this name should mean something. If only he could… the throbbing got worse, and he had to close his eyes.

“Sandy?”

Unable to get rid of the cold, heavy feeling, Sandy looked at the vampire across the table and shook his head, which he instantly regretted. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Sandy, you okay?”  
“I... I don’t know,” Sandy replied, because he really didn’t know what he was supposed to feel, or what he felt, apart from the headache. 

Simon looked at him for a moment longer, head tilted in thought before he reached out, but pulled back just before actually touching Sandy’s hand. 

“Hey,” Simon said cautiously. 

Sandy swallowed hard and dropped his hands to stare at the picture. The face of the man who had been in his dreams for as long as he could remember swam into focus as the headache abated a little. This was the man he had been looking for all over the world, for longer than he had been alive. And now he suddenly had a name to that face, a name that stirred up feelings inside him that he couldn’t name. He only knew that one thing: He had to find him. He _had_ to.

“Where can I find him?” Sandy asked, hardly able to recognise his own voice. It was rough and had a hitch to it that made him sound afraid. Maybe he was afraid. No, scratch that, he was definitely afraid. Something was happening to him, and he didn’t know what it was.

Simon hesitated for a moment, a strange, intense look in his eyes, before he nodded. “He has a night club downtown Manhattan,” he said then. “I also know where he lives but...” He shrugged. “I don’t really like giving a friend’s address to a total stranger.”  
“I get it,” Sandy whispered, his voice unsteady. “Where is that club?”  
“I can text you the address,” Simon replied and took out his phone. “He’s not there every night, but maybe you’re lucky.”

Sandy could only nod. 

For almost seventy years this stranger had been in his dreams; Sandy’s whole life had been revolving around the desperate attempt to find him, and the thought of suddenly meeting him was nothing short of terrifying. He was able to thank Simon a few times before he left, and he spent the next few hours in his hotel room trying not to freak out. 

What was he supposed to say? 

_Hello, I’ve been dreaming of you since I was five?_  
_Hello, I’m a warlock but I suck at magic and I dreamed of you so can you fix me?_

Looking at himself in the mirror Sandy shook his head, his fingers trembling as he tried to sort his hair. Any attempt at styling would have only made a mess in his state, so in the end he decided to go for natural, meaning he just let strands of hair hang down his forehead as they pleased. Then he dressed in a pair of tight black jeans and an equally tight black T-shirt, and hoped that it would be an appropriate look. 

There was a queue at the entrance, so Sandy had even more time now for his nerves to get the better of him. His hands were sweaty and ice-cold when he was finally able to enter the club. 

The air inside was heavy with hard beats, sweat, alcohol, and the artificial scents of deodorants, perfumes, and colognes. Flashes of strobe light cut through the murky darkness like knives.  
It was as if his senses were running into a wall. 

But despite the thrumming bass, Sandy felt that his heartbeat was the only thing he could hear. He was praying that the man... Magnus Bane... _Magnus_... would be here tonight. He shoved himself past people standing at the bar waiting for their drinks, and let his eyes sweep across the crowd on the dance floor.

Having snaked and pushed through the dancers, Sandy had another look around. The centre of the ground level was the dance floor, with bars to the left and right. At the far end was a flight of stairs leading to a gallery overlooking the club and which looked very much like the VIP area, since the stairs were guarded by two heavily muscled bouncers. 

If Magnus Bane was the owner of this club he would most likely be up there, if he was here tonight at all, but Sandy had no way of getting past the bouncers who were just shooing away a group of girls attempting to get up there. 

A fog machine hissed, spewing white clouds across the floor that weaved between the dancers like lost haunts before vanishing again. Sandy took a step back and stared up at the gallery. 

_Magnus Bane... I’m here. I’m here. I’ve been looking for you for fifty years. I found you. I’m here._

And as if his thoughts had reached across the noise and darkness, someone stepped towards the edge of the gallery to look across the club. Ringed fingers closed around the shining metal bar of the railing. And then he lowered his eyes down to the dancers. 

Their eyes met. 

And two things happened simultaneously. 

Sandy couldn’t move. He couldn’t _breathe_. His head felt as if it was about to explode, and his whole body was both ice-cold and on fire. 

Up on the gallery, Magnus Bane’s eyes widened to the extent that Sandy could see the white in his eyes from down here through the darkness, but before he could even try to force air into his lungs, the expression on the warlock’s face turned into one of cold fury. He flicked his wrists and thrust out his hands –

– and Sandy was thrown back, flung into a wall that wasn’t there and his body was on fire and his brain was melting and the pain was unbearable and he was falling and falling and falling and then his back suddenly hit something hard – 

He had no idea where he had landed and he didn’t care, because he felt as if his head had been split open with an axe and someone was pouring a ton of bricks into his brain. 

Images flashed up in his mind, each and every one of them hurting like a flashlight in his eyes, people and faces, smiling laughing and crying, places and smells and sounds and voices, thousand of images and sensations were suddenly being crammed into his mind and body until he felt as if he was about to burst. 

The scream that had been constantly in his ears petered out into a whimper. And he could finally hear something else again. 

“Sandy! Sandy!!”  
“Sandy, god, what happened to you?”

He knew those voices, those voices were good, they _belonged_ here, and he desperately reached out to them. He felt a hand on his forehead, and another hand clamped around his own, and the screaming images faded a little into the background. He was finally able to open his eyes to see the panicked face of... he knew this man... he knew him... 

“Dad...” he croaked, his throat raw and aching.

“Sandy...” His father rested a hand on Sandy’s cheek. “For god’s sake, what happened to you?”

“Sandy...” 

Sandy managed to turn his head to look at his mother who was kneeling on his other side. Her face was wet with tears. 

“What happened?” His father asked again. 

Sandy stared at him, feeling as if every bone in his body had been broken and someone had tried to rip out his brain. Images and sensations that had no business being there bubbled to the surface of his mind, and he shook his head and begged for them to go away but it didn’t stop. 

“We need Sura,” he heard his mother whisper. 

Sandy felt something close around his waist, and he was lifted off the ground, and when a few seconds later the cacophony of sounds and images simmered down a bit he found himself cradled in his father’s arms as if he was a child. The noise in his head relented, but was far from gone.

“Sandy...” Strong fingers ran gently through his hair. “Sandy, boy... what happened?”

“I don’t know...” Sandy was shaking, he was hurting, he was confused... and he was absolutely terrified. He had no idea what was happening to him, he had no idea what was going on in his mind, and he wanted to scream but was too wrung out to do so. 

A portal opened in the middle of the room and Madame Sura appeared, in a dressing gown and without her jewellery and her elaborate headdress. 

“What...” She faltered and stared at Sandy curled up in his father’s arms.  
“We don’t know,” Mariana said, in tears and shaking. “We were about to have breakfast and we heard a scream and... he just appeared out of nowhere screaming in absolute agony, and we don’t know what happened... we thought it might be a demonic possession but there is no trace of demonic magic...”

Madame Sura knelt down next to Ashur and his son and rested the palm of her hand against Sandy’s forehead. 

“Calm now,” she said in a low voice. “Calm now, Alexander. Breathe.”

Whatever Sura was doing, it quietened down the screaming sounds and blinding flashes of images in his mind, enough so that Sandy was finally able to recall what happened. 

“I found him,” he rasped. “I found him, but he looked at me and he... I don’t know what happened... I don’t know what he did... He was furious and he threw me... away...”

Mariana got up and spread out her arms, examining the air in the room for a moment. “Banishment,” she whispered.  
“What?” Ashur looked up at her.  
“Remnants of a banishment spell,” she said. “He was... banished to where he came from.”  
“Home?” Sandy blinked to clear his eyes. He was no less confused than before.  
“This is where you came from,” Madame Sura replied with the ghost of a smile. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is finding out why he banished you.”

Sandy remembered the face, a beautiful face, a face that no drawing could ever do justice, and he knew that he had missed him, he had missed him and he wanted to go back but he hated him and...

“Calm,” Sura said again and increased the pressure of her hand on Sandy’s forehead. “You must stop fighting it.”  
“Fight what?” Sandy asked in a trembling voice.  
“Your mind,” she replied. “Calm down. You need to stop fighting against the flood and let yourself float, like a leaf on the stream. Stop fighting. Don’t even try to swim. Just let it flow around you.”

The soothing warmth of her magic kept Sandy calm enough that he could at least attempt to follow her advice, and the flash flood of sounds and images and feelings finally began to make sense. 

And then the realisation of what had happened to him hit him like a train, again, for the second time in a single day. 

“Memories...” he whispered. “They’re memories...” He looked at Madame Sura, confused and terrified. “I don’t... I don’t understand... what is happening to me?”  
“You remember,” she said gently and took one of his hands. “It is as I suspected.”

“And what did you suspect?” Ashur asked after a moment.  
“That this man and the demon were memories.”  
“Memories of what?” 

A moment of heavy silence hung in the air. 

“Of another life?” Sandy’s mother asked tonelessly.  
“So it would seem,” Madame Sura replied heavily. 

“But...” Sandy looked at her with tears in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  
“It was not my place,” Madame Sura replied gently but firmly. “It was nothing but a suspicion, and if I had spoken my mind, would it have given you any peace or reassurance?”  
Sandy didn’t know what to say.  
“This journey, Alexander, was your journey alone. All those decisions had to be yours, and yours alone. You had to make those choices unaffected by anyone else, or you might have chosen wrong, not thinking about what you had to do, but what someone might want you to do.”

Sandy closed his eyes again and wished he could wake up and all this was just a nightmare. He had no choice but let the memories flow around him because he had no strength left to fight them. 

A man and a woman, a woman with dark hair, his mother... his father...

“No,” he whispered. “No, they’re not my parents... they are, but... but they’re not because...” He opened his eyes again to stare at his father. “They’re not my parents... you’re my mum and dad...” He felt tears burn in his eyes and gasped for air, his throat painfully raw. “I don’t... I don’t have a brother, and I don’t... I don’t have a sister... but... I... they’re... they are.... they were...”

“Sandy...” His father whispered.

“That’s not...” Sandy jerked away from him and doubled over. “It’s not my name... but it is... and... it was, but it still is... and I... I can’t...” His brain was on fire again. “I’m not Sandy... and I never was, but I am... I don’t want to... I’m not...” He couldn’t breathe.

Totally lost and terrified he stared at his hands. Something was wrong with his hands... or his arms... Something was gone that should be there and... 

He somehow scrambled to his feet and stumbled towards his mother’s vanity, and stared at himself in the mirror clawing at the left side of his neck as if he was trying to dig something out of his skin. 

“It’s not there... it’s not there anymore... but it was never there so how...”

Madame Sura stepped to his side again and rested one hand on the back of his neck and the other on his forehead. 

“A soul is not supposed to remember,” she said with a frown. “It is not made to remember. I have no idea what caused this.”

Madame Sura’s mind magic calmed the memories down again, and he was able to make a bit more of sense out of it all. 

“Magnus...” He swallowed and stared at himself in the mirror. “I was... we were... My name... it was Alexander. It was always Alexander... but they called me... Alec. And Magnus... Magnus and I... we were...”  
“You were lovers,” Madame Sura said gently.

A tear trickled down his cheek. 

“I wasn’t a warlock,” he whispered and turned his head to look at his neck again in the mirror. “I am... I was... I... I was a Shadowhunter.”  
“A Shadowhunter and a warlock?” Ashur looked at his wife, and then at his son again. 

Staring at his image in the mirror Alexander shook his head. “I don’t care. We don’t... we didn’t care. It was us. It was only us...” He wiped his cheek, but the tears kept coming. “And now he hates me... why... how he looked at me... he hates me...”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Sura said, her hands still firmly in place. “I can see your memories. It is not hate, it is anger, and fear. He banished you like... like a demon.”  
“How could he think Sandy is a demon?” Mariana asked in utter confusion.

“I don’t know...” Alexander kept staring at himself in the mirror. “I didn’t... he... Alec and I...” He let his fingers ghost across his cheek. “I didn’t change...”

“A shape-shifter assuming the form of his dead lover?” Madame Sura said and looked at Ashur.  
“It would explain the banishing,” Ashur replied slowly. 

“But...” Alexander began in a small voice. “But I... I want... I came back and... Alec is... was...”

It was all too much. He covered his face with his hand and barely suppressed a scream. It was too much. He remembered going to school, and he remembered doing hours and hours of training in archery and fighting and he remembered his parents trying to find someone to help him and he remembered his parents never being satisfied with anything he did and-

“Alexander.” Madame Sura’s warm hands were on the back of his neck again. 

There was only one thing he knew, one thing that he was sure of, beyond doubt, the one thing that made sense in this maelstrom: Magnus Bane. 

In all the chaos and the agony of all those different memories clashing and colliding there was one constant: Magnus. Magnus, and what he felt for him. And he could only think of that one thing: He needed Magnus. He needed him, and everything would make sense if only Magnus would have him back. 

“I need him,” Alexander whispered hoarsely. “I need him. I can’t do this without him.”  
“Then you need to go back,” Madame Sura replied. “You need to talk to him.”  
“But how am I supposed to talk to him if he banishes me as soon as he sees me?”

The other three warlocks exchanged a few wary looks. 

“You can do nothing but try,” Madame Sura said eventually. “You have to find something that you can say to him which will make him believe you.”

He didn’t know how. The memories were all so painfully jumbled in his mind he was hardly able to make sense of anything. How was he supposed to find something that Magnus would believe? How could he even get close to him?

He didn’t have a choice, though. He had to go back. He had to try. He didn’t have a choice. 

“Dad...” He finally wrenched his eyes away from the mirror and turned around. “Can you portal me to New York?”  
“I can,” his father replied. “But I think you should rest for a moment.”  
“No. I can’t.” Alexander shook his head. “I have to go back. I have to fix this.”

“You should wait,” his mother said then. “It’s in the small hours of the night in New York. Wait at least for a few hours until it is daytime over there.”  
Alexander shook his head again. “I can’t.”  
“You can hardly stand upright,” Mariana said firmly.  
“I don’t care. I have to find him.”

Realising that there was nothing they could do to stop him short of tying him up somewhere his father relented, and stepped back to open a portal. 

“I’m coming with you, though.”  
“Dad... no. I have to do this alone.”  
“I will come along to New York,” Ashur said again. “And I will put a ward on you so that if he banishes you again you’ll end up with me and not hell knows where.”  
“And how do you think having a ward against banishment on me will help me convince him I’m not a demon?” 

Father and son looked at each other, but after a moment, Ashur shook his head with a sigh. 

“Sandy, I’m worried about you.”  
Alexander shrugged. “I’m scared shitless, Dad. But I have to do this.”  
Ashur sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “Then please, at least give me that bracelet you’re wearing,” he said after looking at his son again, “so I can track you if all else fails.”

Alexander nodded and took off the bracelet made of leather and wooden beads that he had bought in Kathmandu, and handed it to his father. 

And after another moment of hesitation, he summoned all his courage and stepped through the portal.

* * *

As soon as Alexander stumbled out of the portal into Central Park, the headache was back. It was throbbing behind his forehead as if something inside was hammering into his eyeballs, and he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He staggered a step forward and almost fell to his knees, desperately trying to focus. 

Magnus. He needed to find Magnus. 

The headache abated, not completely, but enough to that he was able to think again. He needed to find Magnus. The high warlock of Brooklyn. He needed to get to Brooklyn. 

He clung to that thought like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood. Brooklyn. He needed to get to Brooklyn. He had to find Magnus. 

Clutching his head, his palms pressed against his temples, he staggered and stumbled around in the darkness until he finally found a path, and once he made it out of Central Park he managed to flag down a taxi. 

“Brooklyn,” he said after falling into the backseat, and rubbed his forehead.  
“Brooklyn’s a big place,” the driver replied. “You need to be a bit more specific.”

The image of trees and bushes and a lake appeared out of nowhere. Alexander pinched his eyes shut and swallowed. 

“The... the park.”  
“Prospect Park?”  
“That one.”

In truth, Alexander had no idea what or where Prospect Park was, but as long as it was in Brooklyn it didn’t matter. 

The only way for him to not lose his mind right then and there, or collapse under his headache, was thinking of Magnus Bane. He was the only thing making sense, his lifeline, his lodestone, his anchor that prevented him from being torn apart. He had to find him. And when he had found him everything would be okay.

Once he had left the taxi, he started walking. He didn’t think, he didn’t even know what he was doing, but he walked anyway. He had never been in New York, so he couldn’t possibly know anything around here. But he walked without hesitation, as if he had walked the way a hundred times before. 

The thought that maybe, he had, was making his headache worse so he tried not to think. His feet seemed to be doing just fine on their own. He didn’t even pay attention to where he was going, other than to avoid running into lamp posts or other people.

He had no idea how long he had walked around the urban canyons of Brooklyn, but the sun had risen and there were more and more people around by the time Alexander suddenly stopped in front of a large, four-storied building made of red bricks.

He stared up and slung his arms around him. For a moment the headache was so bad he felt as if he was about to pass out from the pain, but then he staggered a few more steps forward towards the door.

* * *

Magnus hadn’t slept. He hadn’t even been in bed. He was still sitting on the couch after having fallen into it last night, and he hadn’t moved an inch. 

That vision in the club had ruined his first attempt after decades of taking back his life, thoroughly and probably for several years to come. 

As if the dreams weren’t enough. 

Dreams where Alexander was back at his side, in his bed, or laughing with him. He always woke up in tears.

And dreams of Alexander looking at him with pain and betrayal in his eyes, blood welling out of his mouth, asking him in a dying voice why he wasn’t there to save him. Those dreams had him wake up in cold sweat as well as tears, and he usually spent the remainder of the night in the kitchen, staring into a cup of tea that went cold in his hands without him ever taking as much as a sip.

He opened his eyes again and stared at his left hand that was cradled in his right one. Some days had been better than others. There had been days when all Magnus had been able to think of was Alec, and the hole he had left in Magnus’ life. And there had been days when he had just been able to live his life, but being the high warlock of Brooklyn and working together with the Institute never let him forget. 

He had briefly thought about abandoning everything and everyone and leave New York, and possibly the States, altogether. But then a few remnant circle members had appeared, having escaped the Clave’s attempt at eradication. And then there had been some vampire troubles. And then issues with the wards on the Institute.

In the end he had stayed, because he knew that Alec would have wanted him to help his friends and family and the Institute. Of course it meant having his daily life full of painful reminders and memories, but it also meant that Alec would never vanish and be reduced to a sorry little memento in that box he had hated so much. 

Seven decades had done something about the pain, though. It was still there, and would never leave, but the loss of Alec was no longer a raw and bleeding wound. It was a wound that would never heal, but the pain had eventually numbed down to a level he was able to live with. This pain was all that was left now, the only way Alec would remain with him, and at the very least Magnus wouldn’t have to fight against the waters of forgetfulness. Having the memories of Alec and his love stay with him was worth the price of pain he paid every single day. 

They had buried Clary thirteen years ago, the last one of the small group of Shadowhunters who had turned his life upside down that day in his club, eight decades past. He had watched her and Jace’s children grow up, but Alex lived in Idris now and Jocelyn in Ontario, if he remembered correctly. He hadn’t seen either of them in years. 

But Magnus had managed. He had his life, he saw clients, he helped other warlocks and downworlders, and he helped the Institute. He helped Catarina take care of Madzie, who for reasons unknown to anyone hadn’t aged at all during the last decades. She was still a child, in mind and in body. 

It wasn’t easy either, but she gave Magnus something else to focus on. 

And now he had let Cat talk him into going the club again. It made sense; it was his club, after all. He had thought that maybe it wasn’t so bad an idea, to try and distract himself. Try and get a little bit of his life back that he had enjoyed so much before... 

...before Alec had barged into his life without as much as a by-your-leave, saving his life twice in rapid succession, right before barging into his heart with his beautiful eyes and his bashful smile and...

Magnus wiped his eyes with a huff. As if he would ever be able to sufficiently distract himself. No amount of distraction could do anything about the fact that today was always the worst day of the year. 

Magnus couldn’t even say why. Every day without Alec was hell, so why would this day make any difference? The fact that it was the anniversary of his death made his absence no less or no more painful. 

But he had listened to Cat and tried to do something entirely different than he had during the last seventy years, which was stay at home in lonely misery.

He toyed with the ring and sighed. His mind had had other plans, apparently. 

Looking at that face in the crowd down there, his heart had stopped beating for a moment. He hadn’t even been thinking, he had only known that shape-shifter or vision, it had to go. 

And now the day was even worse. Seventy-one years, and it hurt almost as much as on the day Alec had left him. He should have stayed at home, not trying to pretend he could ever have his life back, pretend he could just party as he used to. 

His wards alerting him to the presence of someone approaching the door tore him out of his musings. He wasn’t really in the mood to deal with any Shadowhunter or client today, but maybe it would offer him a chance to think of something else for a moment. 

He forced himself out of the couch with a sigh, and approached the door when he heard a very tentative knock.


	7. In domum suam et venerunt – I have come home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to [ByTheAngell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeLittleInfamy/pseuds/ByTheAngell) and [apathyinreverie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apathyinreverie/pseuds/apathyinreverie) for helping me solve plot and editing questions and to [lynne_monstr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynne_monstr/pseuds/lynne_monstr) who was so generous as to allow me to use the idea of sentient magic from her fic [whatever it takes to turn this around](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16446194) which I highly recommend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the chapter we've all been waiting for, I hope you'll find it worth the wait.

Everything was so clear. Alexander stared at the door, and the feeling of having been here a thousand times was so overwhelming he felt his knees go weak. Magnus was here. He knew Magnus was here, and even if he wasn’t at home right now he would show up eventually, so all he had to do was wait. 

He heard footsteps, and his heart was beating so hard he could hardly swallow. Then the door opened, and he again looked at the face he had been trying to find for longer than he had been alive. 

And all he wanted to do was fall into Magnus’ embrace. 

He should maybe have expected it, but being completely overwhelmed by emotions he caught the change in Magnus’ expression too late. Bored annoyance gave way to utter confusion that immediately turned to rage, and before he could react, Alexander found himself caught in a vice made of magic and slammed into the wall at his back. 

“Who sent you?” Magnus snarled, eyes flashing gold.

Alexander tried to force some air into his lungs, but his vision greyed out around the edges.

“I said, who sent you!”

The grip around his chest tightened. For a moment Alexander was paralysed, but then the pressure relented a little, enough that he could breathe again. Enough to talk. 

But he had no idea what to say. A thousand memories were jumbled in his mind, all of them escaping his grasp. Anything resembling order he had been able to imagine collapsed like a house of cards.

“Magnus...” He rasped, his head throbbing and his heart racing. 

It wasn’t the answer Magnus wanted to hear of course, and with his blood running cold Alexander felt another tendril of magic being rammed down his throat. 

He could not breathe. 

The memory flashed up like the flame of a match. 

This had happened before. Their places had been reversed. Valentine. The omamori charm. And he hadn’t believed Magnus was in there.

He tried, but there was no air coming in or out of his throat. Trying to mouth the words ‘Valentine’ and ‘omamori’ had no effect. 

Magnus was going to kill him. 

Suddenly the tendril in his throat and chest was gone, and Alexander gasped and coughed and desperately tried to get more air into his tortured lungs. He was still held in the grip of Magnus’ magic, but there was more confusion than anger in Magnus’ face now, who had just realised he wasn’t dealing with a demon. 

“Who are you,” Magnus asked, his voice a rough whisper. 

Alexander tried to reply but his throat was still burning. 

“Who are you!” Magnus screamed and slammed him into the wall again. 

“Magnus!” He forced it out of his lungs with every bit of air that he had, and the single word carried all his terror and his pain. “Magnus... please...”

Magnus’ hands were shaking now, and he was gritting his teeth. 

Alexander desperately tried to grasp something, anything, that he could say. Tears were forcing themselves out of his eyes. He had to find something, anything, he could say to Magnus that only Alec could know, to make him realise who he was.

The image flashed up like a thousand others before: Right here in this room. A tent made of red fabric. Golden pillows. And Magnus, naked and beautiful. 

He opened his eyes and forced it through his burning throat, a single word, hardly audible. 

“Anantya...”

The grip of magic on him was gone so suddenly that he couldn’t catch himself. He crumbled into a heap on the floor, the wall at his back, and looked up at Magnus who stared at him with painfully wide eyes. 

“What did you say?” He whispered.

“An... Anantya...” Alexander rasped. “You... and me, forever... remember? Soul to soul... forever...” 

“Alexander?” Magnus breathed as his eyes spilled over, and tears ran down his cheeks as he stood there, lips parted and hands shaking. 

“I came back...” Alexander swallowed hard past the pain in his throat. “Magnus, I... you... I’ve been dreaming of you... you were in my dreams for as long as I can remember...” He swallowed again and blinked the tears out of his eyes. They fell from his lashes and trickled down his cheeks. “I couldn’t remember... but you’ve always been there... and I’ve been looking for you all my life. Please... Magnus...”

Magnus took a hesitant step towards him, and then another. Then he went down onto his knees before him, still wide-eyed and with wet cheeks. 

“Magnus, please... please don’t... please don’t send me away. I came back. I came back to you... please don’t send me away again...” The thought was unbearable. The thought of having found him and not being allowed to stay was like a knife in his heart. “Please, Magnus... My soul remembered you... I thought... I... I didn’t want to make a promise... it was a wish, remember? Anantya...”

“Alexander,” Magnus whispered again. He was shaking his head in disbelief. “Is that really you...”

“Magnus, please...” Alexander wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. “You were never gone... My soul never forgot you, never stopped loving you, and when I saw you last night it all came back... I remember everything... but please...” He closed his eyes, but the pain in his skull was so intense when he did it that he opened them again. “It’s all... it’s too much.” His voice broke on the last word. “It’s all there, it’s all back, but I was someone else and now I don’t know who I am anymore. It’s all in my mind and I don’t know anything anymore, I just know that... I’m going mad if this... I need you, Magnus. Please help me...” His voice petered out into a desperate whisper. “Help me...”

Magnus still stared at him in silence, and the tears were dripping down his chin now. 

“Magnus,” Alexander whispered hoarsely. “Even if you don’t love me anymore, please... please help me make sense of all this... it’s too much... I can’t take this alone...”

Blinking hastily a few times Magnus shook his head, them he brought his hand to his face. He pressed the back of his hand against his lips, fingers curled into a fist, but then he reached out, his hand shaking like a leaf in the wind. 

“You came back...”

And then the palm of his hand rested on Alexander’s cheek, and the screams in his mind fell silent, and the pain in his head drained away, and he closed his eyes with a small sob while turning his face into the touch. 

“My darling Alexander...” Magnus replied in a shaky voice. “How could you think I would ever stop loving you?”  
Alexander opened his eyes again and blinked his tears away. “But you believe me?” He whispered. “You... that I’m back? I... I came back...”

“You came back,” Magnus whispered, and he was shaking his head, but his thumb was gently caressing Alexander’s cheekbone. “You really came back...”

But then he shuddered and dropped his head with a small sob. His hands fell lifelessly down and he shook his head. 

“Magnus...” Alexander managed to push himself off the wall.  
Magnus looked up, gritting his teeth while tears were running down his cheeks again. “I almost killed you,” he whispered tonelessly. “Oh god, Alexander... you defeated death for me... and I almost killed you...”  
“But you didn’t,” Alexander hurried to say and leaned forward. “You thought I was a shape-shifter, didn’t you? But you didn’t kill me when you realised I wasn’t a demon. That’s not who you are, Magnus. You don’t kill people just like that.”  
“But I almost-”  
“Magnus...” Now it was Alexander who rested a hand on Magnus’ cheek. “It happened before, remember? I almost killed you when I didn’t believe you were in Valentine’s body... Even though you told me about the omamori... I almost got you killed.”

The two stared at each other for a moment. 

“You forgave me, though, didn’t you?”  
“Of course I did,” Magnus whispered.  
“Then you believe me when I say I can do the same?”  
“Alexander...” Magnus shook his head again, his lips still parted as if he meant to say more, but didn’t know what. 

“Magnus,” Alexander whispered. “I’m here. I’m alive... and I need you.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I need you, I can’t make sense out of all this alone. I’ve got two people in my head and I don’t know which one is me... I don’t know who and what I am... and for all that time there was only one thing I was sure of: I had to find you. And now... I don’t know if I’m Alec, or if I’m Sandy, or if I’m someone else, but I need you to help me because all those memories are driving me mad and... the only thing that makes sense is you. Help me... please help me...”

“Alexander...” Magnus took a deep breath to calm himself. “I don’t know what... I don’t know what to do. But of course I will help you. Whatever it takes... I will do it.”

Magnus lifted his hand to cautiously rest it atop Alexander’s that was cradling his cheek. The fingers closed around Alexander’s wrist in a feather-light touch, but then more tears welled up in Magnus’ eyes. Another small sob escaped him and he shook his head again, gritting his teeth. 

“Magnus...” Alexander whispered and leaned closer.  
Magnus looked up again, and he swallowed another sob. “I missed you so much,” he whispered, his voice thick with tears. “Alexander... I missed you so much...”

Within a heartbeat Alexander let go of Magnus’ cheek, and he closed his arms around Magnus’ shoulders. Magnus fell into his embrace with another sob and clamped his arms around him. The two clung to each other, desperately holding on, and while Magnus was crying into Alexander’s shoulder, Alexander just buried his face into Magnus’ hair. 

Holding Magnus as tightly as he could he rocked them gently back and forth, one hand in Magnus’ hair and the other running gently up and down his back. 

The thought made Alexander’s throat constrict. To imagine that Magnus was gone, that he would have to face life without him, for eternity – it was unbearable. And Magnus had been through that for seventy years. And while everything Alexander had been through had never been this painful, even without remembering Magnus his absence had always been a deep-seated wrongness in his life. To actually remember that kind of loss...

He closed his arms even tighter around Magnus and brushed his thumb up and down the short hairs on the back of Magnus’ head. Soft and bristly at the same time, just like they had always been. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered into Magnus’ hair. “I’m back. I came back. And I... I’m so sorry... I’m so sorry it took me so long to find you...”  
Now Magnus peeled himself away from him and leaned back. He unceremoniously wiped his sleeve across his face and shook his head. “No, Alec... don’t be. You said your mind couldn’t remember.” He tried to swallow his tears. “You had no way of knowing where to go.”  
“But I...” He felt as if he was about to choke on his tears. “Decades ago I was in London and had to choose between Oslo and New York and... I chose wrong...”  
“Alexander.” Magnus pulled him close. “Alexander, no... You couldn’t have known.” Gentle fingers ran through Alexander’s hair. “Please... please don’t torture yourself over this. You’re going through enough already.” 

They held on to each other for a moment longer, and Alexander buried his face into the crook of Magnus’ neck. 

“Alexander...” Magnus whispered into his hair. “My Alexander...”

But was he? 

Alexander lifted his head and took a deep breath before he leaned back. 

“I don’t know,” he said in a husky voice. “Am I?”  
“Are you what?” Magnus asked, a slight frown appearing on his face.  
“Your Alexander,” he replied. “I... I remember being Alec Lightwood but there also... I was someone else... I was Sandy Hatfield for so long and I... I...” He shook his head with closed eyes. “I’m not really your Alec anymore, am I?”

“Alexander,” Magnus said in a gentle whisper. “Maybe you are not the same man that I... lost, so long ago. But your soul... that is still you.” He cradled Alec’s face in his hands. “Alexander, I... I would never have been able to believe you would, even could, come back to me. But I know your soul, Alexander. I would have loved you with another face, and...” A smile ghosted over his lips. “But you are still as beautiful as I remember.”

“I’m not as you remember,” Alexander whispered tonelessly. He wasn’t. Because... how could he be when he was... “I’m not...” He swallowed hard and was unable to go on.  
Magnus tilted his head, running his thumbs across Alexander’s cheekbones.  
“I’m not... not a Shadowhunter anymore,” Alexander forced out. “I’m not nehpilim, and I-”

A finger held gently against his lips made him stop. 

“I fell in love with your soul, Alexander,” Magnus said as he removed the finger. “Not your angel blood.”  
“But...” Alexander closed his eyes. “But I... you don’t understand...”  
“Don’t understand what?” Magnus leaned a little closer.  
“What I am...”  
“I only see the man I love,” Magnus said, his voice a little unsteady again.  
“But I’m no longer that man!” 

Alexander tore himself away but he only fell back and caught himself on his hands. He stared at Magnus who looked at him with so much pain in his eyes that Alexander couldn’t hold back his tears. 

Magnus had loved him as a Shadowhunter, as a mortal with angel blood. How could he still feel the same if he knew that he now was half demon?

“I’m not nephilim,” he pressed out through gritted teeth. “I’m not even human!”

“Neither am I.”

Alexander looked up into Magnus’ unglamoured eyes, those beautiful golden eyes that had been haunting him for as long as he could remember. 

No, of course Magnus wasn’t human either. 

How could he possibly have thought Magnus could not love him anymore, him being half demon himself?

And it was then that he finally realised it: Magnus was no longer the only one who was immortal.

Alexander let his eyes drop to his hands, and he spread out his right palm and curled his fingers. He was gritting his teeth so hard they hurt, and he forced every ounce of willpower he had into it. And just as he saw Magnus lean forward, intent on stopping whatever it was he was doing, the blue shimmer of magic finally appeared. Alexander had sweat beading on his forehead by the time a small globe of bluish-white light hovered above his palm, and he finally looked up at Magnus’ face. 

Magnus stared at the globe of magic energy with impossibly wide eyes and a silent ‘oh’ on his lips. And then, after a few heartbeats, he reached out, blue wisps of light surrounding his fingertips, and gently picked up the globe to bring it closer to his eyes.

He tilted his head this way and that as he stared at the small orb of light with awe and wonder in his eyes. And then they misted over, and a tear ran down his cheek as the light dissipated between his fingers. He looked at Alexander again and shook his head, visibly trying not to cry, trying very hard to smile, and failing at both. 

“You’re a warlock...”

Alexander tried to smile as well, but all that appeared on his face was a twitch around one corner of his mouth. 

“Alexander...” Magnus rested his hands on Alexander’s shoulders, then he cupped his cheeks and leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “Alexander, I...” His voice was trembling. “I would have thanked the fates on my knees for having you back, just for getting the chance of spending another lifetime with you, and even if it would have only been a few years. Another ten wonderful years with you...” He took a shaky breath. “But now... not only do I get you back, but I will never...” He broke off with a suffocated sob.  
“Watch me age and die,” Alexander finished for him and rested his hand on the back of Magnus’ head. “But... I’m really not much of a warlock, my magic is... it’s stunted, and my warlock mark is kind of crippled and...”

Magnus took another deep breath and leaned back just enough so he could look at Alexander, look into his eyes. 

“I don’t care if you’re powerful or not, Alexander, and I don’t care about any warlock mark. The only thing I care about is you.”

Alexander was captured in Magnus’ gaze now, even as his eyes turned back to warm, dark brown. 

And he wondered why he had ever thought any of this would matter. 

Lips slightly parted he leaned forward again, and Magnus did the same. They breathed against each other’s skin for a heartbeat, and then their lips touched, a kiss so soft it was hardly there. 

Time stood still for a moment, and they kissed again, tender and almost shy, as if neither of them could believe that it was real, that they could really have this. Then their lips touched again, firmer this time, and with the next kiss they had their arms around each other, fingers buried into each other’s hair. 

And suddenly Alexander felt a calm and peace he hadn’t felt in a very long time. There was a clear and pristine silence in his head, there were no memories that were screaming and scrabbling for a place, there was just here and now, him and Magnus.

Magnus’ scent and his taste and the feeling of his lips, soft and surrounded by the scratch of stubble, the tug when a ring caught in a strand of his hair, it was all that mattered.

And his world that had been unhinged so violently gently settled down again, into its rightful axis.

Alec couldn’t tell how long they had been kissing so gently, but he opened his lips as Magnus’ tongue brushed against them. Within a heartbeat their kisses were no longer shy and tender, but fuelled by passion and the ardent, desperate longing from having been forced apart so long ago. And when they eventually had to part for air they immediately closed the distance between them, Alec’s face nestled into the crook of Magnus’ neck and Magnus’ face buried in Alec’s hair. Hands roamed gently now where moments before fingers had dug into skin hard enough to leave marks. 

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough, and Alec wanted to be closer, he wanted more, he wanted everything he had been longing for without knowing what it was. His lips brushed against the skin of Magnus’ neck and he felt Magnus shudder under the gentle caress. 

Magnus broke away from the touch, his eyes glassy and red but filled with the same longing that Alec felt. They both got onto their feet, a clumsy, awkward undertaking because they didn’t want to let go of each other, but somehow they managed to reach the bedroom without falling over. 

They couldn’t stop kissing, but then Magnus’ fingers wandered under Alec’s shirt, a gentle touch that made him shiver. He lifted his arms and moments later the shirt landed on the floor somewhere behind Magnus, and Magnus’ hands caressed his chest, making his skin tingle. 

Alec thought about commenting on the absence of runes on his skin but he knew that Magnus didn’t give a damn about any runes, so neither should he. So instead of wasting time with thinking he just pulled Magnus into a kiss again, and let his own hands slide under Magnus’ shirt, the skin hot under his palms and the silk of the fabric cool against the back of his fingers.

For a moment Alec felt the urge to just rip the shirt apart, making buttons fly and buttonholes tear up, but he forced his hands to slow down and started to unbutton Magnus’ shirt instead. Magnus inhaled deeply with every button, with every bit of skin that was bared to Alec’s touch. 

When Alec pushed the shirt down his shoulders Magnus shook it off his wrists, and they immediately had their arms around each other again, skin to skin. Their kisses heated up now, and they were softly gasping and moaning against each other’s lips. Then Magnus took a step forward, pushing Alec against the bed, and Alec just let himself fall backwards without letting go of Magnus’ waist.

Magnus landed on top of him with a breathless little chuckle. 

“That was graceful,” he whispered with a smile, but claimed Alec’s lips again before the latter could think of a reply. 

The sensation of their bodies pressed together now made Alec’s skin prickle and every hair on his body stood on edge, his heart was racing and his breathing was as hard and fast as Magnus’.

Then Magnus rolled off him, but immediately went back to kissing him as his hand wandered down Alec’s chest and abdomen. Alec gasped for air against Magnus’ lips when one of the rings got caught in the waistband of his jeans as Magnus popped the button. 

He needed more air so he reluctantly turned his head away. 

“Magnus...”

Magnus’ hand stilled, but Alec gave him a breathless smile. 

“I just... it was ever only you,” he whispered. “I haven’t even kissed anyone before. I’ve always been yours.” He ran a hand through the short hairs on the side of Magnus’ head. “I’ll always be only yours.”

Magnus smiled, his eyes misting over, but he leaned over Alec’s face to kiss him again as he proceeded to carefully pull down the zipper of Alec’s jeans. 

The feeling was almost too much. Remembering something is one thing, but actually experiencing it is something else, and for all intents and purposes, Alec had never done this before. But Magnus seemed content to take the lead for now, and the touch of his hands sent small sparks through Alec’s veins and nerves. 

He still remembered what to do though, let his instincts take over, and once they had both gotten rid of their trousers Alec hooked his leg around Magnus’ while they kissed, their hands touching the other everywhere they could reach. 

It still wasn’t enough. Alec slipped his fingers into the waistband of Magnus’ briefs, and with an urgent hum against his lips, Magnus lifted his hips to assist him. 

Moments later there was finally nothing between them anymore, only skin against skin, and they kissed with their arms around each other as their legs entwined, pressing their bodies together as if they were trying to melt into each other. 

Alec could almost feel the moment Magnus lost control over his glamour, and he looked into those beautiful golden eyes when Magnus broke away for air. 

He couldn’t help it; the thought just forced itself towards the front of his mind. He pulled away and sat up, his skin tingling and crawling with a sensation he couldn’t name. Magnus frowned, having seen the change of mood behind his eyes, and after sitting up on his knees as well, cupped Alec’s cheek with a gentle hand. 

“It’s...” Alec swallowed. “It’s just that... I’m... I don’t want to lose control, too.”  
“Alexander...”  
“You... you don’t understand,” Alec said, shaking his head. “Those things I have on my back... those crippled bony tentacles... they’re horrible, and I really... I really don’t want you to see them... and I don’t even understand why I should have those same sort of tentacles like the demon that killed me... they’re just... so ugly...” He broke off with a helpless huff of breath.  
“Alexander,” Magnus said again, his voice achingly soft. “There is nothing ugly about you.”

Alec wanted to disagree, to tell him that he was afraid Magnus would look away from him in disgust, but then Magnus’ arms were around him again, and Magnus’ lips on his. And as their bodies were pressed together again his thoughts evaporated like morning fog under the rising sun. His skin was glowing and prickling and tingling, his heart was racing, and his body took over, starving for Magnus’ touch. Kneeling on the bed facing each other and pressing their bodies together created a completely different and more intense sort of friction, but it still wasn’t enough and it was driving him mad.

And then Magnus brought one of his hands between them and lowered it, and closed it around both their erections to bring them even closer together. A hard, low moan escaped Alec’s lips as he dropped his head onto Magnus’ shoulders. 

They moved in perfect synch, like back then, like always, their bodies fitting together so perfectly despite their difference in height. There was nothing else but their hands on each other’s skin, their heated hungry kisses, and their humming moans, muffled by each other’s lips.

Alec’s skin was tingling more and more. It was almost burning, but in the most pleasurable way possible, as he neared his point of no return. He had to break the kiss to breathe, his head falling back for a moment. Then he looked at Magnus again, and their eyes met. 

Shimmering tendrils of blue light crawled across their skin like lightning made of gossamer, the air heavy and charged around them. 

And then, for the duration of a single heartbeat, Alec suddenly saw his own face instead of Magnus’, and by the way Magnus’ eyes flew open, he experienced the same. As if they were looking at each other through the other’s eyes instead of their own, their souls united for that single heartbeat.

They came, together, on the next. 

Alec arched back, and he could feel himself lose control but couldn’t do anything about it, couldn’t even care while every nerve flared up as if hit by lightning, and his veins pulsed with a fire that made him shudder and scream, but not with pain. He almost passed out, held upright only by Magnus’ strong arms and hands. 

And when he came to his senses, his mind still swimming a little, he found Magnus stare at him with the same awe and wonder in his eyes as before, when he had discovered Alec’s magic. 

The things on his back hung down heavy and uncomfortable, and Alec couldn’t meet Magnus’ eyes any more. 

“Alexander,” Magnus whispered, his voice trembling. “Alexander... oh god...”

Alec managed to look up again after all, and his breath caught in his throat as he did so. 

The room around them was pure carnage. 

Wallpaper had peeled off, plaster had rained from the ceiling, every light bulb in every lamp had burst, windows and mirrors were shattered and the curtains were in shreds, and even the pillows and comforters on the bed looked as if they had been blown up with gasoline. 

“What...” Alec shuddered and shook his head in something close to panic. “What is this...”  
“It seems...” Magnus began slowly and pressed his lips together for a moment, “...it seems as if we just produced an uncontrolled magical discharge.” He didn’t look away from Alec, though.  
“And...” Alec looked around again in shock. “Does that happen often when... two warlocks...”  
Magnus shook his head and swallowed. “No. I’ve never experienced anything like this.”

Magnus’ eyes were still on Alec and he dropped his head, and he felt the weight of the things on his back heavier than ever before. 

“Magnus...” He said in a small voice. “I...”  
“Alexander...” Magnus gently pressed two fingers under his chin to make him look up. There was a strange smile on his face. “They’re beautiful...”  
“Magnus, you... you don’t have to say-”  
“Alexander,” Magnus said again, firmly this time. “You don’t understand. They are beautiful.”

Something about the look in his eyes made Alec shudder again, and he finally dared to turn his head to look over his left shoulder. And what he saw made him spin his head towards his right shoulder too. 

“What...” He croaked. “What is going on...”

Magnus snapped his fingers and pushed his palms upward, and within moments the room was tidied and restored again. Then he gestured at the wardrobe and the floor-length mirror with a smile. 

Alec hesitantly slid down from the bed, but needed another moment before he dared to turn around. And another moment before he dared to open his eyes. 

His mouth fell open with a helpless gasp close to a small scream. 

They _were_ beautiful. 

Wings easily twice as long as his arms, decked in shiny black feathers, iridescent in the sunlight that was streaming into the room, and reflecting the light like black mother-of-pearl.

“Oh god...” Alec couldn’t move. There were muscles under his shoulders he had never felt before, and when he tried to flex them, his wings spread out even more. Then he looked down at his hands, and with nothing more than a twitch of his fingers they were encased in dark blue light. “What... how is this... what happened...”

He felt Magnus step behind him, and looked at his face in the mirror, looking back between the reflection of Magnus’ eyes and himself. The light around his fingers died again. 

“I can hazard a guess,” Magnus said and rested his hands on Alec’s shoulders. 

He steered him towards the bed and after Alec had sat down, Magnus settled down opposite him. He seemed a little distracted by the wings as his eyes kept darting towards them, and he took a deep breath to focus. 

“Do you remember when back after Asmodeus took my magic, it came back after some time?”  
Alec nodded. “I remember... you talked about magic being something like sentient, or semi-sentient.”  
Magnus nodded as well. “Asmodeus took my magic, but no one told my magic it wasn’t allowed to come back to me. My magic needs me as much as I need my magic.”

He licked his lips in thought before continuing. 

“I don’t know for sure, but I think all this has to do with the ritual,” he said. “The fact that I used magic to extract actual pieces of soul that we then shared, created a bond that is much stronger than the Anantya alone would ever have been able to tie between us. And everything that happened to you makes sense if you look at it like this.

“You took a sliver of my soul with you, a soul infused with warlock magic, which explains why your soul was drawn to a warlock body instead of a human one, or a nephilim, for that matter. But now it gets a little complicated.” He rubbed his chin. “You see, the bond that we created is... alive, in a way. And it goes both ways, kind of... like...” Magnus gestured helplessly into the air. “Like some sort of umbilical cord. There is a connection between you and me containing my magic, which explains why you were pulled towards me all the time. That bit that was missing from me wanted to come back home.

“And then there is the fact that I carry a small piece of your soul, so a part of you never died, which would explain why you remembered everything so clearly. But the magic... your stunted magic is a bit of a puzzle, even to me. My only guess is that... because the bit of my magic that was in your soul... well, it was there before your magic manifested, I think. And it fought against yours, so it wouldn’t... be pushed away and extinguished, holding on to and feeding off my magic through the bond.”

“And... what happened just now?” Alec asked and looked at his hands that immediately were covered in blue light. 

Magnus smiled, his own hands glowing blue as well, and took Alec’s hands between his own. The magic flared up in a spurt of blue flame before simmering down again.

“Our souls connected again,” Magnus said, still smiling. “And we... we created another bond now, so now my magic no longer has to fear that a part of it will die after all. But it’s not gone, you see. You still have it. And now I have a piece of yours. With time and practise you will feel it, because I can feel it already.”

“So we’re what...” Alec looked at him with a crooked little smile, “... some sort of warlock parabatai?”  
Magnus chuckled with a one-sided shrug. “You could use that allegory, yes. And I believe we can become quite the force if we combine our magic for whatever purpose.”  
“And...” Alec gestured vaguely at the room around him. “Is this going to happen every time... we...”  
“I hope not,” Magnus said, his smile growing warmer. “But I don’t think so. That discharge was most likely your magic breaking free, or maybe it’s also a matter of getting used to it. Either way,” he cupped Alec’s cheek again, “I don’t care, because I sure do not want to stop making love.”  
“Neither do I,” Alec replied and rested his hands on Magnus’ shoulders. “But I really hope I don’t do this every time...”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Magnus said and brushed his thumb across Alec’s lower lip to stop the frown that was forming on his face. “Magic isn’t always easy, or straightforward.”  
“That’s an understatement,” Alec said with a lop-sided smile.  
Magnus’ smile softened as he leaned closer. “You know what’s not an understatement?” He asked softly. 

Alec’s smile widened, and he rested his hand on the back of Magnus’ head to pull him close. Magnus leaned into his embrace, and the two slung their arms around each other, their lips meeting in a gentle, lingering kiss. 

Then Magnus pulled back with a sigh and rested his head on Alec’s shoulder, his face against the skin of his neck. Alec buried his face into Magnus’ hair and they remained like that in a tight embrace, warmed by the golden sunlight falling through the windows. 

“I love you,” Alec muttered into Magnus’ hair and tightened his embrace. 

“I love you too,” Magnus whispered back. “Welcome home, Alexander.”


	8. Anantya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is it. I have a small epilogue coming up after this, to wrap things up. Thank you all for reading and commenting, you made me all so happy!

_There was no air in the room anymore. The god-damn bow tie was choking him. Everything was choking him._

_It was only when their lips met that he could breathe again._

Alec opened his eyes with a small gasp and in complete disorientation, until he remembered where he was and what had happened. He could just about grasp the fragments of his dream.

_“You never cease to amaze me, Alec.”_

_“Yeah, what did I just do...”_

“I made the right decision,” he whispered to no one in particular.

And he looked at the ceiling, almost invisible in the dark room. The lights of Brooklyn kept complete darkness at bay, and the thrumming pulse of the city that never sleeps created a soft backdrop of sound that was so familiar and so right that Alec felt nothing but peace at that moment. 

Listening to Magnus’ deep, calm breathing, he thought back to the first time he had spent a night in this bed, and a smile appeared on his face. It vanished when he realised that the memory didn’t give him a headache. 

It was all so clear now. He had been Alec, and then he had been someone else, but Alec had always been a part of him. He had always been Alec, he only had forgotten it for a very long time. But even when he had forgotten Alec, he had never forgotten Magnus. 

Sandy’s journey had always been Alec’s journey as well. And now the memories were no longer driving him mad because he no longer had to find out what was real and what wasn’t. All of it was real. All of those memories had their place, their right to be there, simply because he was now able to sort them in _before_ and _after_ instead of _right_ and _wrong_. He no longer needed to try and force it all together like a puzzle of tiles that didn’t match anywhere. Because there were, in fact, two puzzles. And both of them together created the picture he had been trying to find for so long.

All the doubt and confusion and the fear they had caused had simply vanished, and had left behind a peace and calm and a sense of belonging that he would never have been able to imagine.

He turned onto his side to look at Magnus who still slept like the blanket-hogging, cocooning caterpillar he remembered, and he smiled fondly as he slipped out of the bed to use the bathroom.

When he came back he looked at Magnus’ face that was about the only thing visible, and he stood there for a moment in wonder that this all was real now. This was his life, now, and again. And would be, forever. 

Leaning into the doorframe, Alec watched as Magnus sighed in his sleep and turned onto his back, a dreamy smile on his face. 

Then he opened his eyes. The smile was gone in an instant, and he froze. He flung himself around to stare with widening eyes at the other, empty half of the bed beside him, and before Alec could react, Magnus dropped his head, his fist hitting the mattress as he buried his face into the empty pillow with a helpless sob. 

It took Alec a moment to realise what was happening. 

“Magnus.” He pushed himself off the doorframe and was on the bed the moment Magnus jerked upright. “Magnus.”  
Magnus just stared at him out of red eyes filled with tears.  
“Magnus,” Alec said again. “I’m here. It wasn’t a dream.”

Magnus blinked a few times, and Alec just reached out and wiped the tears off his cheek with the back of his hand. Then he wordlessly slid under the blanket again, pulled Magnus close, and curled as tightly around him as he could. Magnus buried himself into the embrace, and with his face pressed against the skin of Alec’s chest he calmed down again, even if it took him a while to stop shivering. 

The next time Alec woke up was in bright daylight, the sun shining through the windows because they hadn’t thought of closing the curtains last night. 

Brooklyn had woken up, and Alec could hear the cars, an occasional honk, and sirens somewhere in the distance. Everything was so familiar that he almost felt as if he had to get out of bed and get ready for another day at the Institute. 

He slowly sat up, careful not to wake Magnus, and looked out of the window for a moment, and at a few seagulls that swooped past. Then he looked at Magnus again and smiled. He always looked so strangely young in his sleep. 

That made Alec think of all the time that had passed since he had slept in this bed the last time. But that made him realise something else however, and with parted lips he stared out of the window again, his breath escaping him in a trembling sigh. 

And for some reason this tiny sound had Magnus awake in an instant. He blinked and dug himself out of the blanket, and rested a gentle hand on Alec’s shoulder after sitting up as well.

“Alec?”  
“Sorry for waking you up,” Alec said, still staring out of the window.  
“What’s wrong?” Magnus’ thumb caressed the skin of Alec’s shoulder.

“I just realised...” Alec swallowed and finally looked at Magnus again. “They’re all gone, aren’t they?”  
Magnus took a deep breath and lowered his eyes for a moment. “Yes,” he said gently and looked up again. “I’m sorry.”

Alec slung his arms around him and looked at the blanket covering his legs. “Jace... he... he hurt, didn’t he.” It wasn’t a question.  
“He did,” Magnus answered and sighed. “But he had Clary and Izzy, and Max too. But... you know that perfectly well, I suppose. He was never again quite the man he used to be. But he learned to cope.”

Shaking his head, Alec swallowed and blinked the tears away that threatened to spill over. 

“He did find happiness, you know,” Magnus said, increasing the pressure of his fingers around Alec’s shoulder. “He and Clary had two wonderful children, a boy and a girl. But sadly I haven’t seen either of them in years.”

When Alec looked up at Magnus again he had lost the fight against his tears. “Did he name his son after me?” His voice was the tiniest bit unsteady.  
“Why do you ask that?” Magnus asked softly.  
“Because that’s what I would have done,” Alec replied. “I would have named my son Jonathan if...” He swallowed and shook his head. 

“He did,” Magnus said after a moment. “Although they called him Alex. And the girl’s name is Jocelyn.”  
Alec pressed his lips together for a moment. “What about Max?”  
Magnus took another deep breath and looked at Alex with a sad smile while shaking his head. “He lived and died a true Shadowhunter warrior,” he said as gently as he could. “But like so many others, like his oldest brother, he was taken from us too soon.”

Alec wiped the back of his hand across his nose and dropped his hands into his lap. “And the others?” He whispered huskily.

Magnus took Alec’s hand before he continued. 

“Your mother died a few years after Luke, and they are buried together in Flushing Cemetery.” He gently ran his thumb across the back of Alec’s hand. “Max is buried in Idris, but I don’t know where your father lies. We lost all contact with him. Isabelle never married and never had children, and she was buried, after her own wishes, as Beloved Servant.”

Alec nodded slowly, and wiped the tears off his cheek with his other hand. “What about Jace?” He asked tonelessly. “And Clary?”  
“They rest in St John’s Cemetery,” Magnus said and moved closer to Alec’s side. “And Clary, too, wanted to be buried as Beloved Servant.”

Alec stared at his hands that lay lifelessly in his lap. Magnus slung one arm around him and closed his other hand around Alec’s other shoulder. His thumbs caressed Alec’s skin for a moment before he took a deep breath. 

“I don’t know how to say this...” he began hesitantly. “And I don’t know if...” He sighed and tilted his head to he could look at Alec’s face, studying his profile. “I don’t know if meeting them would have made things any easier.”

Alec stared straight ahead for another moment before looking at Magnus. “You mean it’s better this way?”  
Magnus tried to think of something comforting to say. “Alexander...”  
“No, I think I understand,” Alec said slowly. “They’re gone, and it... it hurts, but I didn’t have to watch them grow old and die. They’re gone but the memories... they’re still there. I just... I can’t imagine Jace as an old man, or Max. I will remember them... but not their deaths.”

Magnus moved his left hand up to rest it between Alec’s shoulders, his thumb caressing the back of Alec’s neck.

After a moment Alec turned around and looked at Magnus again. “Do you ever get used to it? Does it ever get any easier?”  
Magnus didn’t have to ask what he meant. “No. You don’t get used to it. And it doesn’t get easier. What gets easier is to keep people out of your heart, so losing them won’t hurt you.”  
The ghost of a smile flickered across Alec’s face. “It doesn’t always work though, does it?”

Magnus shook his head and brushed a gentle kiss onto Alec’s lips. “No,” he said in a low voice and with a soft smile. “It doesn’t always work.” 

Alec looked at him, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. 

“And that’s not a bad thing,” Magnus continued, his voice still low.

Shaking his head with a sigh Alec reached out and took Magnus’ hands between his own. He ran his thumb across Magnus’ knuckles and shook his head again.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Magnus asked in what was almost a whisper.  
The tiny lopsided smile was back. “I was just thinking... how confused I was, back then, after we met. And how right everything feels now.”  
Magnus exhaled a soft chuckle, hardly more than just a huff of breath. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

Alec’s smile widened a little, but he kept looking at Magnus’ hands. Until a sudden frown appeared on his face. He let go of Magnus’ right hand and took the left one, spreading it out on his palm, then traced the ring with the tip of his index finger. 

“Is that...”  
“Your ring?” Magnus sighed softly. “Yes.”

Now Alec looked up. “You’ve been wearing it all that time?”  
Magnus nodded slowly and tried to smile. “I have never taken it off since...” He swallowed. “Since Jace gave it to me.”  
“Jace?” Alec tilted his head with a small frown.  
“He found it in your desk, when he was looking for your witchlight, and he... he said I should have it.”

Alec looked at the ring again. “Seventy years...”  
“Seventy-one tomorrow,” Magnus said almost absentmindedly. “It was the morning of your... of... the funeral.” He looked up after a moment, tears in his eyes. “I had clearance to go to Idris with... the others... and... and I told... you... that I would have said yes. I put it on, and...” A single tear withstood the furious blinking and ran down his cheek. “I... I conjured up another, for your hand, and...”  
“Magnus,” Alec whispered, and let go of his hand to pull him close. He closed one arm around Magnus and buried the other into Magnus’ hair. “It’s okay. It’s over. I’m here. And I’ll never leave you again.”

Magnus took a few deep breaths to calm himself, then he leaned back again and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. “I just...”  
“It’s okay.” Alec reached out and took Magnus’ left hand again. “It hurts. I can’t even imagine. I don’t even want to imagine if it had been me, and you being... gone...”

They both looked at the ring for a moment. 

“Maybe it’s time to take it off,” Alec said softly and looked up.  
“Hmm?” Magnus looked up as well.  
“I’m back,” Alec said. “But the matching ring is buried under six feet of earth in Idris, so...”

Magnus stared at the ring and a heavy sigh heaved his chest and shoulders. Alec bit his lips, then he quickly slid out of the bed and left the bedroom. Magnus looked up in puzzlement, and his eyes widened even more when Alec came back. He sat cross-legged in front of Magnus and looked down again. 

“You always hated that thing,” Magnus said in a slightly unsteady voice.  
“I know,” Alec said and slowly opened the box. “Because I didn’t want to think of ending up in there, nothing but a memory, together with other memories...” He sighed. “But that doesn’t matter anymore.”

He looked up and held the box out to Magnus. 

“Are you sure about this?” Magnus asked in a whisper as he started to tug off the ring.  
“I am,” Alec said simply.  
“I never wanted to put anything of yours in there,” Magnus replied and stared at his left hand, the finger strangely bare without the ring that had left a slight indentation in his skin, after having been there for so long.  
“I know,” Alec said, his voice low and gentle. “But it’s time. Don’t you think?”

Magnus stared at the ring, and at the box, and back and forth a few times more before he hesitantly reached out. He needed a moment longer to actually let go of the ring after he had put it inside. 

“Why do you want me to do that?” Magnus asked as Alec softly closed the lid. “Put something of yours in there?”  
“Because...” Alec put the box down but his fingers lingered on the lid. “I’m... I’m a new Alec. And we... we’re making a new start. Together. You shouldn’t be wearing the ring of someone who’s dead and buried.”

Magnus tried his best to smile at him. 

“And besides,” Alec went on with a faint smile and cradled Magnus’ face between his hands. “It’s the last thing you will ever put into that box.”

Magnus closed his eyes, and Alec wiped the tears that appeared on his cheeks away with his thumbs. 

“It’s time for a new start,” he whispered and placed a soft kiss onto Magnus’ forehead. “And maybe... maybe time for a new ring as well.”

Magnus opened his eyes again with parted lips. Alec smiled and spread out his left hand, then looked at it, a frown of concentration on his face. A moment later a ring appeared in his palm in a flicker of magic, plain silver and similar to the one Magnus had just taken off. This one had a different surface though, it looked like beaten silver, not like polished steel. Small sparks of blue flickered up inside the ring as letters engraved themselves into the metal to spell a single word. 

Then Alec took Magnus’ left hand, and Magnus leaned forward as well, their foreheads touching above their joined hands. 

“Magnus,” Alec whispered softly. “With this ring I take you as my husband.” Magnus took a small, shaky breath and a drop of wetness fell onto the back of his hand. “Through good times and bad times I will stand by your side,” Alec went on. “And I will love you, always, and forever, because death will not part us.” He slipped the ring onto Magnus’ finger. “Anantya.”

A small shiver ran down Magnus back, but then he took a deep breath. He opened his right palm and a ring appeared, the same as the one he now wore. The same word flickered up inside, and Magnus took it between his fingers.

“Alexander,” he began, his voice trembling but growing steadier with every word. “With this ring I take you as my husband. Through good times and bad times I will stand by your side.” A deep sigh. “And I will love you, always, and forever, because death will not part us.” He slid the ring over Alec’s finger. “Anantya.”

Then Magnus looked up, a small, wondrous and incredulous smile on his face. Alec smiled back at him and cradled his face between his hands, and they closed their eyes as they brought their lips together for a kiss. They slung their arms around each other as they kissed, and when Magnus closed his fingers around Alec’s shoulder, Alec let himself be pushed onto his back. 

“I love you,” Magnus whispered as he covered Alec’s face with gentle kisses.  
“I love you too,” Alec whispered back. “Forever.”  
“Forever.” Magnus smiled against Alec’s lips before he kissed him again.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is it, then. Thank you again, for reading, for commenting, and for kudos, you all put a smile on my face every time. 
> 
> Thanks to my friend apathyinreverie for the beautiful drawing!

The day after their reunion had passed in a strange haze, with coffee in bed and food in bed as well, and they had spent the time with cuddling and lovemaking and talking in low voices until they had fallen asleep well after midnight.

And even now, being awake and watching dust motes dance in the rays of sunlight shining through the windows, they couldn’t really be bothered to leave the bed.

Until a voice coming from the living room tore them out of their lazy doze.

“Magnus?”

Magnus blinked blearily into the sunlight and sat up. “Catarina?” He muttered. “What...” He shook his head to clear it and snapped his fingers to make himself somewhat decent, meaning his briefs, a pair of yoga pants and his satin robe that he hastily tied while stepping out of the bedroom.

“Magnus,” Catarina said with a hesitant smile. “Madzie and I were wondering if you feel like going with us to the food fair in-” She broke off and goggled at his neck. “Is that a hickey?”

Magnus touched the side of his neck with a nervous attempt at a smile, lips parted in a desperate attempt to say something.

“I... something happened... the day before yesterday,” he eventually managed to say.  
“I can see that,” Catarina replied hesitantly.

The two looked at each other for a moment while Magnus was groping for words.

“I know you don’t want to hear it again,” Catarina said with a tentative smile. “But seventy years is a long time and... I know that no one will ever take Alec’s place and I would never think that, nor would I suggest it.”  
“I know... But... you see...” Magnus rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “I don’t know how to explain this, but...”  
“Magnus, you don’t have to explain anything,” Catarina said. “I know Alec can never be replaced, but you are allowed to find some comfort every now and then.”  
“It’s not that,” Magnus began. “It’s...”

Madzie, who had so far been staring at the bedroom door, now looked up at Magnus.

“He came home,” she said, and a huge grin appeared on her face. “He came home!”

Catarina looked down at her with a confused frown, and back at Magnus who shrugged with a slightly helpless, lopsided smile.

As if on cue the bedroom door opened and Alec stepped out, barefoot and with messy hair, and just managed to tug the hem of his shirt into place before Madzie hurled herself at him with full speed.

“ALEC!”  
“Hey!” Alec said as he caught her in sheer reflex, but it was impossible not to smile back with Madzie beaming at him like that. He spun her around a few times and she slung her arms around his neck.  
“I told Uncle Magnus and Catarina that you would come back. But they said you wouldn’t.”  
Alec smiled and shrugged, shaking his head. “It’s not something that happens a lot, you know,” he said and gently put her down again.

The smile on Madzie’s face dimmed. “You were gone a long, long, long time,” she said. “Uncle Magnus was very sad.”  
“I know,” Alec said with a sigh. “But you see, I was born into a new body, as a baby, and I had to grow up first. Then I had to go and find him, and that was difficult because I couldn’t remember everything at first, and that’s why it took me so long. But I swear, I came as fast as I could.”  
“You came back,” Madzie said, as if anything else didn’t matter, and slung her arms around Alec’s waist. “And now Uncle Magnus is happy again.”

She let go of Alec and smiled up at Magnus.

Magnus swallowed and managed a smile, wiping his fingers across his lower lids. “He is,” he said softly. “He is... very happy.”

Madzie smiled at Magnus, and at Alec, but then her smile turned into a frown. “Why are you a warlock?”  
Alec spread his hands in a somewhat helpless gesture and shook his head. “I...”

“It’s... very complicated, sweet pea,” Magnus said as he stepped closer to Alec. “I will try to explain it to you and Cat, but... I haven’t even had a coffee yet.”

Madzie smiled again and held out a mug to him that had appeared in her hands.

“Thank you, sweet pea,” Magnus said as he took it.

Madzie looked at Alec. “Do you like coffee?”  
“I love coffee,” Alec replied with a smile and took the mug that she handed him out of thin air. “Thank you.”

Madzie skipped back to Catarina and smiled up at her. “It’s so cool,” she said. “Now Uncle Alec is a warlock too and he won’t get old and wrinkly and bald and have grey hairs!”

Magnus cleared his throat, and Alec grinned over the rim of his cup.

“Are we going to the fair now?” Madzie asked. “Can I have a candy apple?”

Alec took a sip of his coffee and exchanged a look with Magnus. “I... we can. But Magnus and I, we... we just got out of bed.”  
“How about we meet you there?” Magnus asked. “I really like my morning shower, and so does Alec.”  
“Okay,” Madzie said and smiled again.

“Madzie...” Alec said and went into a crouch before her. “I thought that after all the time you should be grown up and a beautiful woman.”  
“I know,” Madzie replied. “But I didn’t want to.”  
“And... why is that?”  
“Catarina said that when you get married it will be cute if I give you the rings and throw flowers,” Madzie said, completely matter-of-factly. “So I had to wait.”  
“That makes... sense,” Alec replied and cleared his throat as he got up again.

Catarina stepped towards Alec now and looked into his eyes. Alec didn’t even try to avoid her gaze, and after a moment a smile appeared on her face. She took another step and pulled him into a hug.

“It’s so good to have you back,” she muttered. “Even though I’ll never be able to understand why.” She stepped back again and smiled at him, her hands on his shoulders.  
“We think...” Alec said and exchanged a look with Magnus, “We think it has to do with the Anantya.”  
“The what?!” Catarina spun around and stared at Magnus. “You did what?”  
“We...” Magnus cleared his throat. “We performed the Anantya,” he said, almost apologetically. “I had no idea it would work this well.”

Alec stepped to his side and slung an arm around Magnus’ waist to pull him close. “Me neither,” he said softly, “but I’m sure glad it did.”

He nuzzled Magnus’ cheek and Magnus closed his eyes, then turned his head so their foreheads touched.

“You know what, I’ll leave you to it,” Catarina said firmly. “You know where to find us if you want to join in.”

She opened a portal and took Madzie’s hand, and the girl waved cheerfully at Alec and Magnus before vanishing.

* * *

Alec finished sending the last fire message to his parents; after he had filled them in they of course wanted to see him and Magnus, and had invited them for a celebratory lunch.

Then Alec sat down on the bed to look at Magnus who stared at himself in the mirror, two different shirts in his hands.

“Magnus, you don’t have to dress to impress. It’s just my parents. Not Maryse and Robert.”  
“I wouldn’t have impressed Maryse and Robert during our first meeting even if I had dressed like the emperor of China,” Magnus replied with a wry smile.  
“See. So you just dress comfortably. Just be you. Just be Magnus.”  
Magnus sighed and smiled, then tossed one shirt onto the bed. “Who else would I be?”

Alec’s distracted stare as Magnus was buttoning up his shirt made him chuckle. “Like what you see?”  
Alec looked up with a grin. “Is that a problem?”  
“Not at all.” Magnus finished buttoning up the shirt and grabbed a black velvet waistcoat. “But by the look in your eyes I find myself tempted to risk being late for lunch.”  
With a soft snort Alec got up from the bed and stepped beside Magnus, then slung an arm around his waist to nuzzle his cheek. “I guess I have to postpone the staring then.”  
“Sadly, yes.”

Alec stepped back again and rolled his shoulders. “Ready?”  
“You know I was born ready, Alexander,” Magnus said with a wink.

Chuckling, Alec raised his hand and spread his arms. The portal appeared instantly and without a flicker.

“You’re a fast learner,” Magnus said. “After you.”

Alec rolled his shoulders again and stepped through the portal, and Magnus was only one step behind as they emerged in the garden behind his parents’ house. He gave Magnus another smile before he approached the veranda door.

“Mum? Dad?” He called as he opened it. “I’m home!”

His mother emerged from the kitchen in what was almost a run, dropping her apron carelessly on the way. “Sandy!”  
“Mum!”

They had their arms around each other the moment she had reached him, and he spun her around once before setting her down again.

“It’s so good to see you,” she said and rested a hand against his cheek.  
His father entered the living room now as well, and pulled his son into a hug before holding him at arm’s length to muster him. “Welcome home. You look... good.”  
“I feel good,” Alec said and looked over his shoulder at Magnus. “Better than ever.”

Magnus stepped forward now and smiled. “Magnus Bane,” he said. “Pleased to make your acquaintance Mrs Hatfield, Mr Hatfield.”  
“Welcome,” Ashur said and offered Magnus his hand. “But we can stop being formal for my sake. Just call me Ashur.”  
“Absolutely,” Magnus said, his smile warming up. “I hate formalities.”

Now Mariana stepped forward and took both of Magnus’ hands. “So you are the man who has been a part of our lives for so long, in such a mysterious way.”  
“I am,” Magnus replied with a smile and dropped his glamour. “The mystery man with the golden eyes.”  
She smiled at him and increased the pressure of her hands. “Welcome,” she said warmly. “I’m Mariana. Our home is your home.”  
“Thank you very much, Mariana.”

Ashur looked at his watch and back at his son. “The others will be here any moment. Do you need a drink for fortification?”  
“The others?” Alec looked at his mother who smiled.  
“We took the liberty to make this a homecoming party for more than just us four.”  
“We figured,” Ashur added as he conjured up three glasses of gin and tonic, “that you’d like to flaunt your new-found magic into some people’s faces. Just a bit.” He looked at Magnus. “Gin tonic?”  
“Sounds perfect,” Magnus replied and accepted the glass Ashur handed him. “The drink does, too.” And he winked.

“So,” Alec said after they had toasted with their drinks. “Mum, I have a question. About your wings.”  
“What is it?”  
“How do you...” He gestured at her shirt.  
“You mean how do I show off my wings while wearing clothes?” She chuckled. “It’s a simple enchantment, Sandy.”  
“Should we still call you Sandy, by the way?” His father asked.  
Alec shrugged. “I’m actually more comfortable with Alec now, but you’re my parents and you have called me that all my life, so it’s okay.”  
“We will do our best... Alec.”  
“Sounds weird, coming from you,” Alec said with a crooked grin.  
His father laughed. “Sounds weird to me too. But we’ll manage.”

Alec took a sip of his drink and looked at his mother again. “So, that enchantment?”  
“It’s just a matter-transparency spell,” she said. “Nothing big.”  
“I’m afraid I have to catch up on my warlock lessons,” Alec replied with a lopsided smile.

Magnus stepped closer to him and snapped his fingers, then ran a hand down his back. “I got you,” he said firmly, and with an affectionate smile. “We have this all figured out in no time. Try it.”

Both his parents looked at him expectantly, and almost excited. Alec rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath, and spread his wings.

His mother dropped her glass. Magnus caught it with a snap of his fingers just in time before it would have shattered on the wooden floorboards.

“Sandy,” Mariana whispered. “God... they are so beautiful...”  
“They are, aren’t they,” Magnus muttered wistfully and looked at Alec with a lovesick smile.

Both of Alec’s parents stepped forward and embraced their son, and both of them had wet eyes when they stepped back.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am,” his mother said and wiped her eyes, then looked at Magnus. “Thank you so, so much.”  
“Oh, I didn’t really do anything,” Magnus said with a flick of his hand. “It just... happened during our...” he cleared his throat, “...reunion.”  
“I don’t need any more details,” Mariana replied with a soft laugh. “Aaand here are the first guests.”

She hurried down the corridor to open the door.

Madame Sura was deeply touched when she learned what happened, and she looked at his wings with moist eyes.

“Did you suspect that too?” Alec asked.  
She shook her head. “That, I only hoped for. Although even I did not think about wings like that. More like those of your mother. But it makes sense, given that you had a trace of nephilim essence stay with you.”

Then she turned around, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Carla!” She waved her over. “How delightful, isn’t it?”  
Carla forced a smile onto her face. “Oh yes, it definitely is.”

Alec snapped his fingers and conjured two glasses of champagne.

“Care for a celebratory drink?” He asked her with a bright, very bright smile, his wings folded but unglamoured on his back. He might have stretched them, just a little bit, before offering Carla a glass.  
Carla’s smile looked more artificial than one from a toothpaste advert. “Thank you, that’s so sweet. And congratulations to your... magic.”  
“Thank you.” Alec took a sip of his drink and winked at her.

Then Carla looked at Magnus, and her demeanour and her smile changed considerably. “So you are the mysterious stranger from Sandy’s dreams,” she said slowly. “What a fascinating man you are.”  
“Thank you, my dear,” Magnus said smoothly. “Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn.” Trust Magnus to be the only person capable of making capital letters audible for the purpose of impressing someone.  
“Wow,” Carla said and sucked at her lower lip for a moment. “That’s... impressive.”

“Oh, that’s just business,” Magnus replied. “But since I’m not here on business, I’d rather be Alexander’s boyfriend than a high warlock.” He slung an arm around Alec’s waist and he and Alec exchanged a smile, and a small kiss, before Magnus looked at Carla again while Alec draped one wing around Magnus’ shoulder. “Ain’t I just the luckiest warlock in the world?” He took a sip of his drink.  
“Of course you are,” Carla said and took a sip as well, then turned away with the pretext of having just spotted someone she had to greet.

“Damn, that felt good,” Alec said under his breath.  
“She looked as if there was piss in that glass,” Magnus muttered, a satisfied smile on his face.  
“Don’t tempt me,” Alec muttered back.  
“She reminds me very unpleasantly of Camille,” Magnus said and shook his head.  
“True,” Alec replied. “But now I’d rather not think about either of them anymore.”  
“Then what would you rather think about?”

Alec leaned closer and his lips almost brushed Magnus’ ear. “Of the little gazebo down at the bottom of the garden,” he whispered, making Magnus shiver ever so slightly.  
“Need a break from all those people?” Magnus whispered back.  
“Yes,” Alec replied, his lips still so close to Magnus’ ear that his breath grazed his skin. “Everyone, actually. Except one.”

Magnus put his glass down onto the nearest table and Alec did the same. Arm in arm they left the house, watched only by Alec’s parents. Ashur put an arm around his wife, and the two exchanged a warm and happy smile before Ashur snapped his fingers to close the veranda door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am who I am I spent several hours on google translate and other resource pages on latin to turn the chapter titles of Sandy/Alec's journey into a bilingual poem, and I want to show off so:
> 
> Iter  
> E tenebris   
> In ignotis  
> Memori vos anima mea  
> In domum suam et venerunt
> 
> Journey  
> Out of the darkness   
> Into the unknown  
> My soul remembers you  
> I have come home
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you all again for reading. I love you all.


End file.
